Thursday

Who said breaking up was hard to do, thought Jim, bitterly, as he negotiated the slippery, barely plowed roads on his way to work, Thursday morning. The key was to let her break up with you. Then she felt righteous, and you felt…relieved, he supposed was the right word. Of course it didn’t always work like that. He had been on the receiving end of breakups, which had caused him real pain. But yesterday he had come to realize that he just didn’t want to be with Donna any more and so he had ceased fighting, ceased trying to make her understand his point of view. He had put his foot down and said that he was moving to his new place, by himself. Donna, being the smart girl she was, had taken the hint and pulled the plug. She had sent him home early, before the snowstorm took hold, and later must have packed up all of the things that he had left at her apartment over the last several months, because he found them in a cardboard box on his car this morning. She must have come out right after the snowplow, he thought, so eager was she to remove all traces of him from her life.

Thank goodness the snow ended early enough for the plows to get through so they could get into work this morning. Wait a minute, he thought to himself, as he pulled into the Dunder Mifflin parking lot, where did that come from? For the last two winters he had prayed for snow days like a little kid. They hardly ever happened, but when they did, it was like a precious gift. But after a miserable, sleepless night, he had actually smiled to himself when he heard the snowplows rumbling down the street in the pre-dawn. He couldn’t imagine why he would actually want to be coming to work this morning.

Well, there was one reason. Roy’s pick up truck pulled into the parking lot right next to his Corolla, and Roy and Pam got out. Pam looked like an Eskimo in her blue parka and boots, and Roy, in a light jacket, indifferent to the cold, helped her through the slippery parking lot and into the building, as though she were as fragile as cut glass. So, he’s not a total lunkhead, Jim thought, grudgingly, and got out to battle his own way into the building.

People drifted in late, all morning. Creed never bothered to come in at all, and Sidney had also stayed home, as he was close enough to retirement to not care what anybody thought, and why break a hip just to come here? There was kind of a festive air in the building, as though all of the rules had been suspended. Michael even ordered pizza for lunch, in his constant campaign to be considered the best boss ever.

The Albany branch was closed for the day, but Michael boasted to Jan that Scranton was here and fully operational, despite "rain and sleet and snow and gloom of night," Pam reported to Jim. The phones weren’t ringing, and the few places Jim called were either closed or not in a paper buying mood. Dwight immersed himself in his computer game, and Jim helped Pam move her monitor around, so that she could play solitaire without anybody seeing what was on her screen, unless they leaned way over her desk, which Jim did a few times just to see how her game was progressing. And to eat a few jelly beans, of course.

Before lunchtime Pam called Jim over to her desk. She brought out a large watercolor sketchbook from under her chair. Jim hadn’t seen her carrying it this morning, so she must have had it under her parka to keep it from getting wet. He opened it up, worried that he was going to have to lie and say something polite about her work. But thank goodness, he didn’t have to lie. She was good. Not that he was an expert on watercolors or anything, but he really liked what she had done. She had several watercolor sketches and a lot of drawings, of gardens and flowers and some people. He recognized a sketch of Roy, and some drawings of two different elderly gentlemen, which he assumed were her former bosses. There were some houses, unlike the ones he saw in Scranton. Houses with gardens and terraces. Her paintings were kind of impressionistic, but her drawings were detailed. He was impressed.

"Wow, Pam. These are really good. I like the way you use color. And your sketches are right on. Well, at least the one of Roy. I can’t vouch for the others."

"Thank you. As for the color…well, I really love Impressionism…you know, artists like Renoir and…"

"I know about Impressionism, Pam," Jim interrupted, " Just because I don’t recognize pre-Columbian pottery when I pass it in a shop window, doesn’t make me a complete philistine."

"I’m sorry," she said, embarrassed, " I never thought you were a philistine. Would you like me to do you?"

"What?"

Pam blushed, "Oh God. I meant a sketch."

Jim laughed, "Really? That would be great. But won’t you get into trouble with Roy...having portraits of strange men in your sketchbook?"

"Yeah, like Roy would ever look in my sketchbook. I mean, he knows I like to draw, and that I draw all sorts of people. I’ll do it later, when you’re back at your desk."

He looked through her sketches again, marveling at the way she captured people in just a few lines. "Man, I can’t draw at all. My stick people...they don’t even look like sticks!"

"Wow, that is bad. But you must have other talent."

"Like what? Music? My mom made me take piano lessons when I was a kid, but I never practiced, and she soon got tired of wasting her money. Then, on my own I took guitar lessons. That lasted longer, but eventually I got tired of wasting my own money. Anyway, the net result is that I can play ‘Three Blind Mice’ on the piano…with one hand, and the opening chords to ‘Stairway to Heaven,’ on the guitar. Just the opening chords though, so I tend to give very short concerts."

Pam laughed, "Oh come on...I know you must have some talent, somewhere."

"Well, I can play basketball pretty well. And I was in a couple of plays in High school. They said I was really good. But then again they were my parents, so who knows."

"You seem to be a pretty good salesman. That takes talent. I know I couldn’t do it. I’m too shy."

"Well, I’ve never had a problem talking to people."

"I know. You made me feel at home right away here. That’s a real gift."

"Thank you. Do you mind mentioning all of this to Michael during my next performance review?"

Pam smiled, but then she leaned over and whispered in a conspiratorial tone, "Hey…what’s happening with the nickel project? I haven’t seen you put any nickels in all day."

"Oh...I’m all done. The phone is as full as it’s going to get. What we have to do now is wait."

"For what?"

"For Dwight to get really used to the phone at its current weight. It doesn’t help that nobody’s calling today. But if things are back to normal tomorrow, I figure that we’ll do it tomorrow afternoon, how about 3:00 PM?"

"Okay. But I’ve been thinking. Won’t you need extra time to get the nickels out? What if he comes back from the bathroom too soon?"

"Good point, Beesly. Are you sure you’ve never done this before?"

"Positive. But I figure that what you need is a diversion. Maybe I could kind of be in the breakroom, and ask him a question when he comes out of the bathroom."

"Wow. Are you sure you want this level of participation?"

"Well, it’s not exactly murder that we’re plotting here. I think my conscience can stand it. But the question is...what should I ask him about? Beets?"

"Not unless you want to die of boredom right where you stand. Have you read Harry Potter?"

"Goblet of Fire? Sure."

"Good. If you ask him about that...he’ll talk to you for hours. Either that or any of the Star Wars movies. Or nature. Dwight’s a big fan of nature. He especially likes to shoot it."

Pam made a face. "I think I’ll stick to Harry Potter."

"Good choice. Oh look...lunch has been delivered. Aren’t we having a productive day."

Michael’s pizza lunch turned into a "Welcome Pam" pizza party in the conference room, that soon spread out all over the office, with everybody milling around and talking. Jim could see that Pam was a bit shy in crowds, but that she was soon talking easily to Phyllis, who was a very sweet lady, and Meredith. The elusive Catherine and Tom actually graced the party with their presence. But Tom was mostly sitting by himself, while Catherine was talking to Toby, who was looking politely uncomfortable. Oh dear, thought Jim, looks like trouble in paradise. This didn’t surprise him, as Catherine had pretty much flirted with every male in the office, at one time or another. In fact, she had made a rather serious pass at Jim, at last year’s Christmas party, which he had deflected, and he suspected she had tried the same thing with Dwight, since he was clearly terrified of her, and avoided her like the plague. As Dwight put it, he would rather be the hunter, than the hunted. Michael was telling jokes in the corner, surrounded by Dwight, of course, Kevin, Stanley, and Devon. It was ironic that the parties that Michael planned so carefully were usually disasters, while this, which happened more or less spontaneously, seemed to be a success. At least nobody was crying, which seemed to be a hallmark of most of Michael’s planned parties.

Somehow, Jim found himself back at his own desk, watching the party rather than participating. His head had begun to ache, which sometimes happened when he didn’t get enough sleep. He also didn’t feel much like eating, and put his pizza down after a couple of bites. A wave of depression hit him, a delayed reaction to last night’s breakup. He guessed that he wasn’t quite as indifferent as he had thought. Ten months was a long time to be with somebody and have it end suddenly like that. And until a few days ago, they had gotten along just fine. Donna had even met his parents, which wasn’t too surprising since he still lived at home. He hadn’t met her mother though, since she lived in Pittsburgh.

Jim knew that Lord and Taylor was probably open...only a major blizzard closed the mall. He wondered if it was deserted or crowded with people dying to get out of the house. On impulse he dialed Donna’s cel number. Not unexpectedly, he got her voice mail, since she had to keep her phone turned off at work. "Hey, Donna, it’s me, "he said, "I just wanted to make sure you were okay, with the storm and all. I’m really sorry about everything. Take care." He hung up and then shook his head at his own lameness. Take care? Not much of an epitaph for ten months.

"What are you doing? Are you okay?" It was Pam; "The pizza’s almost gone, if you want to claim any more."

"Nah, I’ve had plenty, thanks. I have a headache, actually."

"Oh…is there something I can get you? "

"Well, Meredith has an entire drugstore in her desk. I’ll get some Advil from her. Don’t worry about it."

"I’ll get it for you. You want two?"

"Wow. Thank you. That’s very nice."

He watched her go over to Meredith and speak to her, and from there, over to Meredith’s desk and look in the bottom drawer. Triumphant she held up the bottle of Advil and smiled at him. What was it he had been holding out for? One look...across a crowded room? Wonderful. Terrific. Perfect. What the love songs failed to mention, however, was what you were supposed to do, when you saw that girl, the one you wanted, and she belonged to somebody else. How come the love songs didn’t tell you that?

When Pam got back from the breakroom with the Advil and a cup of water, Jim was no longer at his desk. She left the pills and water there for him, and sat down behind her own desk and took out her sketch pad, and began drawing some of the people who were milling around.

A few minutes later Jim came in through the front door, his face red with the cold, "Man, "he said, "it’s cold out there."

"What were you doing outside?"

"Cold air helps my head. Couldn’t take too much of it though. Oh, thanks." He took the Advil with the water and sat down. People were drifting back to their desks. He checked his e-mail. Nothing. He brought up his solitaire game and began to play aimlessly. Dwight came back and sat down, after inspecting his desk for mischief.

Suddenly Dwight’s phone rang. He picked it up, "Dwight Schrute."

"Oh, I’m sorry, Dwight, " Jim turned around and saw Pam on her telephone, "I was trying to forward a call to Michael and I must have hit your extension by mistake."

"Oh. No problem, Pamela. But you might want to have a look at your manual again."

"I was just going to do that. Thanks Dwight."

She hung up and looked at Jim with a big grin. He grinned back. After all, what else could he do?