I. Joe

Joe was quiet. He had a shy smile and his hands looked so capable as he worked the recording equipment. Meredith didn't mind the cameras, but she'd never had much interest in doing the confessional segments until Joe came. Before she had even realized it, though, those few minutes in the empty office with Joe had become the best part of her day. He was so easy to talk to (and yes, she realized that was his job, to get her to talk, but still...). One day she thought she saw a flash of something- concern? disappointment?- in his eye when she was talking about the tiny flask she kept at her desk for really stressful days. She wanted to tell him that she hadn't had a really stressful work day since she'd started talking to him every day, but she didn't know how. So instead, she made sure the camera caught her throwing the flask out later that afternoon.

When he asked her if she had a date for the Phyllis and Bob Vance (Vance Refrigeration) wedding, it took her a minute to realize that the cameras weren't rolling. It turned out that Joe was only quiet professionally, and they talked about their kids and their mutual love of Eagles football. Meredith learned though the conversation that Joe loved fishing. She learned from experience that he was a great dancer and a great kisser. The only drink she had at the reception was the champagne to toast the bride.

II. David

David Dell hated Ryan Howard. He hated him. He'd never actually hated anyone before, but this? This was hatred. Pure, all-encompassing hatred. He hated Ryan's stiff little suits and his carefully overstyled hair and his smug, smug face. For those few minutes each day when he was trapped in the confessional office taping Ryan's talking head interviews, David knew what it was like to do murder in his heart. He wanted to punch him. No, strangle him. No, shoot him. In the stomach. If the arrogant little punk hated this job so much, why didn't he quit? If he was too good for this place, why didn't he just go away?

Every day, David managed not to erupt into violence, but every day he knew he was getting closer. If that asshole was dismissive of Kelly one. more. time....Kelly, who was beautiful and sweet and funny and who looked so, so gorgeous through David's camera, who just wanted Ryan to cherish her as she so deserved to be cherished...one more mean word about Kelly, and David was going to smash Ryan's face in.

III. Tommy

This was by far the weirdest job Tommy had ever had. He'd been a sound tech with the local news station for a few years, and local news could get a little wacky, but this place had it beat. The crazy boss, the suck-up salesman geek guy, his beautiful but scary girfriend in accounting- he'd be telling stories about this place for years.

The one story he'd never tell, though, was about the HR guy, Toby. Tommy had promised not to tell, and Tommy was a man of his word. It was after Dunder-Mifflin business hours on a Tuesday. Tommy had stayed late to replace some of the microphones in the desk phones. All of the employees had signed releases (and their clients did, too, if their calls were going to be featured in the final show), but Creed and Dwight kept taking their phone bugs out. Tommy was walking back to Creed's desk when he heard a low sound. Realizing he wasn't alone in the office, Tommy looked around to identify where the noise was coming from. He found Toby sitting at his desk. He had a small flask (Meredith's, Tommy thought) and two large bottles of pills on his desk, and he was crying over them. Startled, Toby looked up at Tommy with a look of pure pain and overwhelming shame.

Forgetting about the bugs, Tommy had sat up with Toby all night, talking and listening. In the dawn's thin light, he drove Toby to the emergency room for a referral to get some treatment for his depression. Tommy never told a soul.

IV. Carl

Carl hated this gig. He hated the hours. He hated the flourescent lighting. He hated the goofy salesguy who thought practical jokes were cool and who couldn't see that it was better to be banging one hot chick than moping about another one. He hated the geeky guy's stupid geek toys. He hated the fat guy and the gay guy and the drunk chick and the judgemental bitch. He really, really hated the boss who thought he was funny. So, so not funny.

Still, Carl was never quitting this job. Every day...every fucking day...he got to hang out with Creed Bratton. Creed Bratton! From the Grass Roots! The man was, like, a legend. He had the most amazing stories, even if half of them were totally hallucinations. This guy had streaked in places he, Carl, would never even visit. It was fucking cool. Totally fucking cool.

V. Megan

Megan, a seemingly no-nonsense producer of television documentaries, read romance novels. She didn't ever tell anyone about this. Guys she'd been dating for a while sometimes found them on her nightstand, but she never voluntarily offered up the information. She had loved fairy tales as a kid, and these were just fairy tales with sex, right? That was what she told herself (but never anyone else).

Maybe that's why she did it. Maybe that's why, after months and months of dispassionately watching their story unfold, she had done something so unprofessional. It was so out of character for her, but she'd done it anyway. She'd been standing in the hallway across from the pretty receptionist. Pam was lying to the camera that no, she hadn't noticed anything wrong with either Jim or Karen, but the strain was evident around her eyes. Megan had been watching it play out all week. Karen was forcing herself to be falsely friendly, and Jim had returned to the wary, distant demeanor he'd had when he first come back from Stamford. Megan saw that Pam had easily guessed that Karen now knew about Jim's history with Pam. However, since Pam herself didn't know that the cameras had caught the whole story, she was not giving anything away.

As though it were someone else speaking, Megan heard herself start to talk. "Karen asked Jim if he still has feelings for you, and he said yes, Pam. She's trying to decide if she should quit. She said she'll stay if he is willing to make a serious commitment. He doesn't know how you feel, Pam. You have to say something." Pam's eyes had grown wide and she'd walked away without a word (unless, "Wha-? Oh," counts as a word).

After she saw Jim and Pam locked in a passionate kiss in the parking lot that evening, Megan had gone home, poured herself a glass of wine, and read something with Fabio on the cover.