Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to The Office. NBC does, and I am not affiliated with them in any way.
CHAPTER THREE
Pam stepped into the office of Dunder-Mifflin and felt torn in two.
She had wanted to arrive 15 minutes early just to guarantee that she would not be late, but now, as she closed the door behind her, she wondered if 15 minutes alone in the office would be just enough time for her to surrender to her desire to run out the door and never look back.
As she reached what would most likely become her desk and shrugged her pale pink coat from her shoulders, she discovered that she was not alone. Straight ahead, just beyond her desk, she could see the back of a blond, meticulously styled head, the owner of which was arranging what appeared to be cat figurines on her desk. Looking to the left, Pam saw an older man towards the back. His hands were busy tying his necktie, but Pam thought she could see his foot pushing – was that a sleeping bag? – underneath his desk. Strange.
Closest to Pam were two desks. One, which faced the back wall, was empty except for a jacket and messenger bag slung over the back of the chair. At the desk facing Pam’s sat a young man who fingers feverishly worked the keyboard while his wide eyes – were they blue or green? – darted between the computer screen and a notebook splayed open across the workspace. He was so engrossed in his work that he didn’t notice Pam’s presence, but she noticed that his intense concentration was betrayed by a slight smirk on his lips and a twinkle in his eye. His attired matched his face: at a glance, typically businiess-like, but slightly off. White rolled-up shirt sleeves, loosened tie (very Reservoir Dogs, Pam thought), all topped off with an unruly mop of chestnut hair.
Pam was staring. She roused herself from her daze. Wow, I’m spacing out already. I probably should have had more than a cup of mixed berry yogurt for breakfast, she thought. But hunger didn’t explain the flurry of butterflies that had suddenly appeared in her stomach. Must be nerves, she added to herself. Hoping Mr. Mop Top hadn’t noticed her studying him, she busied herself with hanging up her coat and taking a seat on the gray couch next to the reception desk, feeling like the desk wasn’t really hers yet.
Pam sat for a few minutes, amused by watching (discreetly, she hoped) Mr. Mop Top’s pace become more and more frantic, wondering what about paper sales could possibly be so important this early in the morning. Then she heard the sound of singing coming from the hallway. She couldn’t make out any words, but it sounded like the tone guys use when playing air guitar. Was that the guitar solo from that Def Leppard song? Pam didn’t wonder for long because her attention was directed back to Mr. Mop Top.
The approach of Mr. Air Guitar had sent Mr. Mop Top into a frenzy. His eyes grew even wider as his fingers punched out one last flurry of typing. Then he gathered up the notebook, threw it onto the neighboring desk, turned off the computer, pushed out his chair, stood up, and froze as his eyes fell on Pam, who sat on the couch with her hands on her knees, looking at him with the smallest of smiles on her face.
Mr. Mop Top looked at her for a moment with his wide eyes, eyebrows arched and invisible under his bangs, mouth agape in a small “o.” Then his features melted into a sheepish smile.
“Hi,” he said softly.
Pam’s smile widened. “Hey.”
* * * *
Jim managed to finish his “mission” just as he heard Dwight marching down the hallway, belting out some hair band guitar solo. He planned to make a quick getaway to his own desk. He pushed away from Dwight’s, making all the bobble-heads seemingly nod in approval. Hey, maybe they hate Dwight too, Jim thought to himself. He stood up and finally, his eyes fell upon the woman sitting across from him on the couch, looking up at him, and he ceased thinking about Dwight or his silly mission.
Jim took in her cascading curly hair, her clear, un-masacaraed green eyes, her porcelain skin. He wondered what this beautiful woman was doing sitting here on Dunder-Mifflin’s garage sale quality couch, watching him play out his pathetic prank. He also wondered what it was behind those eyes that gave them such a sadness, despite the small smile on the woman’s pale pink lips. She looked so small and lonely sitting there, and Jim had a sudden urge to go sit next to her.
Instead he gave an embarrassed smile, realizing that he had been staring. “Hi,” he said lamely, wondering if the pounding in his chest was because of her or because Dwight could walk in any moment and discover Jim at his desk.
But thoughts of Dwight were forgotten once again when the woman’s face broke into a dazzling smile, and the sadness in her eyes vanished. She simply responded, “Hey,” and they smiled at each other. A voice interrupted from the doorway.
“You, young lady, you must be the new receptionist. Oh great, how old are you, nineteen?” Dwight barked, striding into the office.
The woman looked away from Jim and scrambled to stand up, giving Dwight a pleasant smile and offering her hand to shake.
Jim took advantage of Dwight’s distraction and rounded the corner to sit at his own desk, turning on the computer and pretending to drink out of his empty coffee mug to give the impression that he had been sitting there for a few minutes. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Dwight give an unnecessarily firm handshake and draw himself up to his full height, so he could better look down on the woman.
“Fact: I am Dwight Schrute, assistant regional manager of this office. Fact: our last receptionist worked here for 35 years and probably knew more about Dunder-Mifflin than anyone besides myself or Michael Scott, our illustrious regional manager. Fact: I expect no less dedication from you.” He ticked off these “facts” on his fingers, holding them probably a little too close to the apparent new receptionist’s face.
She nodded. “Um, okay, hi. I’m Pamela Beesly.”
Jim said her name to himself as he continued to pretend to work.
“Okay I will be calling you Pam. It is shorter and therefore more efficient,” Dwight said.
“Yeah, I usually go by Pam – “
“You will sit here,” Dwight interrupted, apparently not caring what Pam preferred to be called. “You will not get up from this desk for more than 10 minutes every hour. You will answer phones in a crisp and professional manner. You will do whatever other tasks I or Michael ask of you.”
Pam took a seat at her desk with raised eyebrows. Jim shook his head slightly, constantly amazed by Dwight’s officious and dictatorial nature. Jim thought he saw Pam glance in his direction, but he wasn’t sure.
“Pam, as the primary taker of phone calls, you are this office’s first line of defense against bomb threats. I am a volunteer sheriff’s deputy and I will now instruct you on proper procedure in the event of a threat of destruction against this office.” Jim could not let Dwight continue like this. He got up and moved over to reception.
“Hey, Dwight, buddy, don’t you think you should let Michael handle orientation for new employees?” Jim asked. Dwight gave him a contemptuous look.
“As assistant regional – “
“Assistant TO THE regional –“
Dwight spoke over Jim, “As Michael’s number two, it is my job take over less desirable tasks.” Jim resisted the urge to make a “number two” joke, not wanting to say something that juvenile in front of Pam…yet.
Instead, Jim said, “Well Dwight, it was also your job to turn in your quarterly sales report yesterday, but you didn’t do that, did you?”
“Son of a….beet!” Dwight tore away from Pam’s desk cursing to himself.
Jim turned back to Pam and felt his stomach somersault to see her smiling back at him. “Thank you,” she said warmly. “I think he was getting ready to frisk me.”
Jim laughed, surprised and delighted by her quick joke. “Yeah, I figured I should stop him before he got to the cavity search.” Pam covered her mouth and giggled. Jim was more than pleased.
“I’m Jim Halpert, by the way.” He reached his hand across the top of the desk.
“Pam Beesly.” She offered her right hand and with her left, tucked behind her ear a piece of hair that had come loose during her giggle fit.
Jim held her small, smooth hand in his, and felt more acrobatics in his stomach. He let go hastily when he heard Dwight cry out behind him.
“Why does this sales report say ‘Daipers Schrute’ all over it? JIM!”
Pam raised her eyebrows, giving Jim a quizzical look. Jim gave her a smile and a wink, and returned to his desk to enjoy the fruits of his early morning labors – Dwight’s confusion and anger, and Pam’s shy smile peeking over the reception desk. Maybe this place isn’t so boring after all, he thought to himself.
Author's Chapter Notes:
Pam meets Jim...and Dwight.
Chapter End Notes:
Next chapter: Michael...and Toby (blech). And of course, a generous helping of JAM.
