Dwight: (in front of Star Tours; indignant) Judy tricked me. Michael didn’t ‘need’ me, and she almost forced me to expose my ruse in front of Andy. I have learned my lesson – I will not turn my back on Michael again. Even if this isn’t technically a competition for the number three post, I cannot fall from Michael’s good graces. From now on Judy is dead to me.

(Judy appears a few feet behind Dwight. )

Judy: Ready to ride, Dwight?

Dwight: (setting his lips in a hard line as he glances over his shoulder. He looks back at the camera. ) After this ride she’s dead to me.

----

Those that rode Star Tours came strolling out of the exit wearing smiles. Dwight immediately headed back to the entrance. Jim slowed as he reached the walkway. Pam rolled her eyes. “It’s to your right,” she said, unable to keep from grinning. Jim feigned ignorance.

“I was looking for the bathroom,” he said, not meeting her eyes.

“Funny enough that’s off to the right, too,” Pam replied.

“Huh,” Jim mused. “How ‘bout that?” He smiled at the camera and sauntered off.

----

Pam: (in front of the Star Tours shop, Tatooine Traders; looking amused) For as much as Jim teases Dwight, you’d think he was cool himself. (She shakes her head slowly and holds up a fair-sized bag.) This is what he brought back from the “bathroom.” (She pauses, raising her eyebrows. ) Then he realized he had to go to the “bathroom” again.

(Jim jogs up behind her. He is carrying another bag, although to his credit this one is smaller. He spots the camera and immediately looks caught.)

Jim: Hey.

Pam: (glancing up at his head; he is wearing a navy hat with gold trim around the band and a patch reading The Empire Strikes Back on it) Nice hat.

Jim: (reaching behind his head to rub his neck) The sun was in my eyes.

Pam: (grinning, again holding up the bag) And the hat in here doesn’t keep sun out of your eyes?

Jim: (glances at the camera) This one…matches…(Jim sighs. ) I got nothin’.

----

Angela was seated on the edge of the fountain outside the MuppetVision 3D theater, fanning herself with a map. Phyllis walked over and took a seat next to her. Angela fidgeted and looked the opposite way.

“Hi Angela,” Phyllis greeted her, smiling.

“Hello Phyllis.”

“Are you hot? You can have a sip of my water,” Phyllis offered, holding out a large Dasani bottle. Angela looked at it critically and her mouth opened just a little, but then simply nodded and took the bottle. After the shortest of sips she handed it back. “How’s your trip been so far?”

“Fine,” Angela answered, her tone clipped as she stared at her tennis shoes. “Yours?”

“Oh real fun. Of course I miss Bob Vance.” There was a silence. “It’s hard when you can’t be with the one you really love, isn’t it?” Phyllis asked softly. Angela’s head snapped in Phyllis’s direction, her eyes mere slits. “It’s okay, Angela - you can talk to me, if you want-”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” she whispered fiercely.

“Angela, we both know I saw-”

“Hello Pam!” Angela greeted the receptionist more warmly than she ever had. Her face made the awkward transition from angry to friendly as Pam, who looked more than a little surprised, drew near.

“Hey,” Pam returned, smiling at both Angela and Phyllis. “They’re letting us in the theater; are you two ready?”

“Yes,” Angela answered, on her feet before Pam was through asking. She took Pam’s arm and began striding purposefully toward the entrance. Pam, now in utter shock, managed to look over her shoulder at Phyllis trailing behind. “So…you enjoy the Muppets?” Angela asked as she led Pam in.

“Oh…um, yeah, I love them. Don’t you?”

“I’m not terribly familiar with them. I always preferred the puppetry on Joy Junction. ”

----

Oscar: (outside MuppetVision 3D) It was great. The Muppet Show reminds me a little of our office, you know? Chaos and stupidity reign supreme, but probably pretty entertaining to watch. (He listens to a question from off-camera and considers it a moment. ) If I had to cast our office with the Muppets? Hmm…Dwight would be Gonzo. Michael’s a little like Fozzy Bear. Andy…Andy’s kind of like Miss Piggy, don’t you think? Loves to sing, prone to violence… (He listens again.) Jim and Pam…? They’re the two old guys that sit in the balcony and heckle…you know…

----

“Statler and Waldorf!” Pam cried, holding up small figurines of the old hecklers and grinning. “I should get these and build a little balcony box to set them up in next to my TV.”

“Good idea,” Jim said, somewhat distractedly, from across the store. The camera slowly approached him, unnoticed. He stood in front of a display on the wall, his lanky frame preventing anyone else from seeing him. A zoom in showed a small ceramic jewelry box adorned with Kermit playing his banjo sitting on the shelf in front of him. He was carefully replacing the lid, but just enough of a black velvet box was visible inside to clue in anyone watching on what was about to happen. With a slightly trembling hand he pulled his iPod from his pocket and the corner of his lips tucked into his cheek as he quickly clicked the selector wheel. After a moment he stopped, then took a deep breath as he clutched the earbuds tightly in his other hand. “Hey Beesly,” he called.

“Yeah?”

“C’mere and see this,” he said, and one would only have heard his voice crack had they been listening quite hard.

“Okay.” She turned from a display of t-shirts near the exit, but then paused. “What’s that?” she asked, frowning as she turned her head toward the open doorway.

“What’s what?”

“That…it sounds like yelling.”

“I don’t know. We can go see in a minute; I just wanted you to see this real quick,” Jim told her, and that intent listener would now have been rewarded with an almost smothered note of urgency.

Pam had not been listening, though – at least to Jim. She took another two steps toward the door. “It’s Michael,” she reported. “He’s yelling at…an old man?” She replaced the shirt she’d been holding. “I’ll be right back,” she said as she went out the door.

Jim stared out the door in disbelief. After a full minute he looked back down at the jewelry box in front of him and, with a long sigh, removed the lid and plucked the tiny box from within. As he replaced it and the iPod in his pocket, he finally spotted the camera that – it was clear from the look on his face – he realized had captured another failed attempt on film. He tried for one of his nonchalant smiles but fell far short, settling instead on a shrug. “A store? I mean…that’s just dumb, right? Who would…?” He shook his head and staring at the floor. “That’s dumb.”

He slowly followed in Pam’s footsteps, his hands deep in his pockets.

----

“Why don’t you just get up? We all know you can!” Michael was yelling at the same older gentleman he had witnessed stepping out of his wheelchair to ride the Tower of Terror earlier that day.

“What in God’s name are you talking about?” the man returned, just as loudly. Michael glanced at the camera, then back at the man.

“I saw you miraculously get outta that thing and get in that creepy broken elevator ride just a couple hours ago and now here you are, back in the chair and perpetating this charade!” He gestured violently at the camera. “I have it on tape, sir!”

“What’s going on, Michael?” Dwight asked urgently, appearing at Michael’s side and shooting a preemptive dirty look at the old man.

“I’ll tell you what’s going on,” the man offered, wheeling closer. “Your friend here has lost his damn mind!”

“How dare you say such things about Michael Scott!” Dwight cried.

“How dare he say such things to me, you mean?” the man correctly harshly. The woman that had assisted him earlier exited the bakery across the way and hurried over.

“Dad? What’s going on?” she asked, looking at the camera, Michael and Dwight, and finally her father.

“This stupid son of a—”

Michael’s eyes bugged and he took a step closer. Dwight brushed past him. “Oh that’s it, geezer,” he growled. Michael put a hand on his shoulder and Dwight reluctantly took a step back.

“You’re insulting me?” Michael scoffed. “You’re the fraud, Grandpa – abusing an already broken system!” He craned his neck for a moment. “That’s not even your wheelchair – you stole it from the park!”

“That’s a federal offense!” Dwight added.

“Fraud? Federal offense?” the woman repeated, looking baffled. “I have no idea…”

Michael shook his head, clearly disgusted. “Don’t play innocent, lady – you’re an accomplice! I saw you there, helping him!”

“I’ll warn you not to talk to my daughter like that, bub,” the old man spat. Dwight bent close before Michael could stop him, although it didn’t seem that he was planning on that.

“Or what, huh? Or what?” he said in his face. The old man struggled to stand and his daughter pulled him back down gently. Dwight sneered. “Yeah, that’s right. I’m trained in the martial arts!”

“I fought in Korea!” the old man countered, wheeling his chair into Dwight’s leg. Dwight’s hands clenched into fists.

“Korea makes amazing toys!”

“All right, punk—”

“Whoa, whoa, WHOA!”

All action paused. The old man, half out of his wheelchair again; the now-angry woman clutching her father; the beet-red Dwight; Michael, his face twisted in anger (and perhaps excitement); Pam a few feet behind the action and looking anxious; Jim furthest in the background, most of the disappointment that had dominated his expression now cleared away by shock and dismay – all of them stopped and looked at the brunette banshee that had let out the piercing cry. Judy stood taller than her five foot three frame, her face pale but her cheeks aflame. She leveled her icy gaze on her charges first.

“Go. Over. There,” she instructed in a low, frightening tone, gesturing with an open hand to a bench twenty feet away (even in this state she had remembered Disney employees do not simply point with one finger).

Amazingly Michael and Dwight obeyed.

After taking a moment to collect herself again, she managed a calming smile and stepped closer to the man and his daughter. Her voice cheery again, although quiet, she began a long explanation – only a phrase here and there were decipherable; “so sorry for your trouble,” “some of our more challenged guests,” and “do you have dinner plans? Let me arrange something” were chief among them.

Pam and Jim approached Dwight and Michael on their bench. Nothing was said for a long minute, then finally Jim sighed. “Really Dwight? That guy’s like eighty.”

“And in a wheelchair,” Pam added, glancing over at the other pair as Judy diffused the situation.

“That makes no difference, Jim,” Dwight said stubbornly. “I was defending my fearless leader.”

Michael looked at him more kindly than he had all day. “Thank you, Dwight,” he said, his voice quaking slightly.

Jim jimmed. “Defending Michael? From what? Getting his foot run over?”

“Where were you as his number two, Jim? Isn’t that the real question?” Dwight pressed, his jaw jutting forward. Jim shook his head.

“That isn’t even close to the real question.”

Judy strolled over then and Pam looked at her sympathetically. “Is everything okay?” she asked.

Judy nodded. “I think so. I arranged a dinner for their family at the most expensive restaurant in the park and gave them some Disney dollars for souvenirs.”

Michael’s mouth fell open. “You gave them stuff?”

Judy stared at Michael longer than could be called comfortably. She finally glanced at Dwight, Jim and Pam. “Can you all excuse us for just a few minutes, please? Maybe get everyone together at the fountain?”

“Sure,” Jim replied as he and Pam started off. Dwight remained firmly in place. “C’mon Dwight.”

“I am not leaving Michael alone again.”

Judy’s eyes went narrow and that eerie look came over her face again. Michael looked at the camera, then cleared his throat. “Thank you Dwight, but I’ll be fine. Go ahead,” he assured his employee, sounding a little nervous.

Dwight stared between the two for a beat, then slowly rose and walked away. He was far clear before Judy shook her head and sighed.

“Michael,” she began, her tone an impressive blend of stern, angry, tired and somehow still Disney friendly. “We need to talk.”