Reincarnation.  I don't know much about it but I was talking to Kelly's parents when we went to that Diwali thing and it sounds like it's not a bad idea.   If I ever was going to come back in another life I'd be…someone like…Hugh Hefner.  He's got a huge mansion, all those beautiful women.   I mean there are boobs everywhere.  And not just the same set every day.  There are all different kinds.  He's got like twelve girlfriends and I think they're all named Brandi.  Which is good - because then he doesn't get in trouble for calling one of them the wrong name, when he really shouldn't.  I've made that mistake.  It is not fun.  

But seriously. Think about it.  Hugh Hefner.  That’s like a dozen boobs a day that he gets to touch. 

For free. 

Of course.  I'd also maybe like to come back as John Travolta.   That might be easier since we already have the same dance moves.  

xoxoxo 

The door to the office swings open, nearly falling off its hinges.  Pam looks up for a moment and immediately looks back down again.

"It's a beautiful day in the neighborhood, Lady Pamelyn."

She nods.  "It sure is Michael."

"Would you be mine, won't you be my neighbor?"   He sways back and forth as he sings.

Pam barely blinks before she replies.  "No." 

"Oh c'mon.  You actually could be you know.  The condo next door to mine and Jan's is up for sale.   Perfect little love nest for you two lovebirds."

Jim leans back in his chair and raises his eyebrows.  He taps a pen against his lips as he asks.  "Really.   What's it like?"

Pam simply stares at him bewildered.  

Michael's face lights up like a Christmas tree.  "Well - it's just like mine.   Two bedrooms.  two and a half baths.   Except - Jan uses the second bedroom as a closet now and I've never found that half a bathroom they keep talking about.  It looks like we have three to me..."  He sighs heavily.  "I pretty sure Carol tricked me.  It'd be just like her.  Anyway I've had to move half my stuff into storage.  So if you move in next door maybe I could store it over at your place.  Pam's car isn't very big - you'll have space in the garage…"

"A condominium is a foolish investment." Dwight interrupts his voice full of disdain.  "Acreage is important.  The land sustains life and houses the dead…"

"Wait."  Jim raises his hand.  "Are you saying the farm has its own cemetery?"

"Well - it used to."  Dwight replies.

"Used to?  What happened to it?"  Jim shakes his head.  "You know what?  Nevermind.  I do not want to know."

"It was the result of an unfortunate plowing incident.  The FDA became involved.  It's classified - I'm not really at liberty to talk about it."

"Fair enough."  Jim nods and turns back to his sales reports.

"But if I were going to talk about it…" Dwight continues.  "I would have to tell you that our beet crop has never looked better."

Pam looks horrified as Jim stifles a laugh. "OK then.  Congratulations." 

"So anyway.  Pam. Jim.  I am inviting you over to my condo for dinner and so you big city kids can see for yourselves what life is like in the 'burbs.  Jan got a new crock pot for Christmas.   She makes this really great chicken with a can of Diet Dr Pepper…"

Pam shivers.  "That sounds…delicious."

"So it's settled.  Friday night.  Eight o'clock."

Jim tries to call out after him.  "Ummm.  Michael.  We can't…" but it's too late.  As Michael makes his way to his office Jim's phone rings.

"Jim Halpert."

"OK.  Hear me out.  I don't think it's that bad an idea."

"I'm sorry. Who's calling?"

"JIM."

"Wow.  What a coincidence.  We have the same name.  Funny.  You don't sound like a Jim."

She ignores him.  "I think we should have dinner at Michael's on Friday night."

"Um.  Pam?  It's really cruel to make me be the one to remind you of your date with certain football player..."

She blushes slightly at his teasing.  "No seriously.  He's not going to stop asking…"

He swivels in his chair and nods.  "And if we go over there he'll never let us leave."

"OK but…we survived the beet farm…"

He laughs and then lowers his voice to a whisper.  "That's because you were there to hold me.  That whole night I was terrified…"

A smile blooms over her face at the memory.  "I don't know.  I guess I'm just kind of feeling sorry for him all of the sudden…"

"Well you need to toughen up, Beesly."

"I know."

"I'm not sure we're going to make it if this type of thing continues."

"I'll make it up to you."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

Jim turns back to his computer screen and begins to type.  "I need details please."

"No.  Goodbye."   Pam picks up a pile of papers and begins to sort through them.  Two can play at this game.

She can hear the grin, not to mention the mild frustration, in his voice.  "C'mon."

"No."  She giggles.  "Not here."

"That's not what you said the other day."

"If you keep harassing me like this I'm going to Toby."

"If you keep saying stuff like that I'm going to start to think there's something going on there..."

Pam shakes her head and bites back a laugh. "Jim.  There's only one guy you have to worry about…"

"I think you should be the one who's worried.   Riggins is a poor, innocent, high school student.  And I hate to break it to you Mary Kay - that means he's also underage…"

Her cheeks turn a deeper shade of crimson.   "OK.  He's anything but innocent.  But either way - no one's going to be reporting anything to Toby today.   He called in…"

"Oh yeah?" Concern fills Jim's voice.  "Is Sasha OK?"

"Yeah.  I think she's fine.  It was really weird.   He called this morning from what sounded like the airport.   He said there was a death in the family.  His great uncle or something…"

Dwight clears his throat and picks up his phone.   Pam puts Jim on hold when she hears the other line ring.

"Dunder Mifflin this is…"

"Pam."

"Dwight."

"You should get back to work." 

"I'm trying.  I'd be able to if people who are actually in this office would stop calling me."

"You called Jim."

"And then you called me."  She does not want to get into an argument with him.   "Dwight.  What do you need?"

"Do you have today's obituaries?"

"I do."  Pam sighs as she watches Jim answer another call.  They'll have to finish that discussion later.   She hangs up the phone and walks to Dwight carrying a bright yellow folder in her hands.  "Can I ask you something Dwight?  How much longer are we going to work on this thing for Michael?  Researching all this stuff - it's starting to get a little morbid."

"Pam.  Fact.  Everyone will die someday.  Except me of course.  One word.  Cryogenics."

She should have known.   "Of course.  So.  You're going to freeze yourself?"

"Yes.  The week before I die I am having the procedure done."

"How do you know…"  Pam begins, realizing as the words leave her mouth that she really does not want to hear the answer.

"Death Predictor.com.   You type your birth date and a few other details and it can predict your actual death with at least 85 percent accuracy."

"Well good luck with that Dwight."

"I don't need luck.  I have science."

"Good science then."  Pam says, rolling her eyes a bit as she makes her way back to her desk.

xoxoxo

As he walks back from the break room munching on a bag of chips, Jim watches Pam pacing by Michael's office door, nibbling on her nails.

"You look worried."

"Yeah.  I sort of am."

He runs a hand over the small of her back as he tries to get her to stand still.  "What's the matter?"

"Michael's mom called.  She sounded really upset.  I think someone in their family passed away."

Jim stops mid crunch and studies her face.  "Really?"

"Yeah."

"Huh.  So Michael might just get his inheritance."

"I guess."  Pam takes a deep breath, her voice trembling slightly when she speaks again.  "I mean, this whole thing started as kind of a joke, but now it seems like Michael might actually have lost a relative."

"I guess we'll…"  Jim trails off as the door to Michael's office swings open.

"Pam, go find Angela.  We need a cake.  And streamers.   And everyone has the rest of the day off.   It's like Martin Luther King Jr Day, only better.  I am free at last."

"What's going on Michael?"

"Ding dong the witch is dead!"  Michael prances around in a circle, waving his hands above his head.  He hooks his arm through Dwight's and swings him around.

"Who died exactly?"  Jim asks, tossing the now empty bag of chips in the wastebasket.

"Jeff.  My evil step…friend."

"You mean step-father."

"He was not my father."

Jim holds his hands up to try and calm Michael down a bit.  "OK - but…"

Dwight shakes his head.   "He'd be a warlock Michael - not a witch.   Witches are women.  He'd be a warlock or a wizard…"

He waves him off.   "Witch, wizard, whatever.  He is gone.  And he was loaded.  So it seems my inheritance is impotent."

Pam can't believe after all this time it'll be quite this easy for Michael to get what he wants.   And she knows full well who will have to deal with the consequences.

"Michael - I mean - just the way you are talking about him here, it doesn't seem to me you two were particularly close…"

He will not be swayed.  "Oh Pam.  Please.  It'll happen.  I am sure of it."

"I'm sure too.  Of the opposite."  Pam says under her breath, loud enough for Jim to hear. 

"Are you going to the funeral?" Jim asks Michael then.

"I don't think so.  It's all the way in Boca Raton.  Did you know that means rat's mouth?  That makes sense that he ended up there.  Jeff always looked a little like a rat to me.  Especially those whiskers…"  Michael wiggles his fingers near his nose to demonstrate.  He takes Pam by the arms and shakes her a bit.  "Enough talking.  It's time to party!"

Pam watches Michael and Dwight disappear into the conference room.   Andy and Kevin follow behind as Stanley and Phyllis go back to work without so much as missing a beat.

"What's that look for?"  Jim nudges her with his elbow as they make their way back to her desk.

"I just…it's weird.  I'm thinking about Toby…"

Jim tilts his head to the side and regards her carefully.  "Aaand now I'm beginning to get jealous.   Pam.  I mean if you're dissatisfied here and want to start to look elsewhere - branch out.  There's a whole world outside Dunder-Mifflin."

Pam narrows her eyes at him.  "You should talk."

He nods solemnly.  "Touché.  Beesly.   Touché."

"And we'll talk about my satisfaction later."  She smiles smugly when Jim stares back at her, his mouth agape.  She smacks his arm.  "No. Seriously.   Listen to me.   I could have sworn Toby said he was going to Florida, because his Great-Uncle Jeff had died…"

It's difficult for Jim to concentrate but he's finally able to refocus on the conversation.  His eyes widen.  "NO.  It can't be…"

"It can be though.  I mean, think of Michael's luck…"

"Good point." 

"OK.  So.  How do we tell him?"

"Tell him he's kind of related to Toby?   Of all the people in the office?"    Jim shakes his head.  "We can't do that.  Hell.  I'd rather go back to being related to him…"

"He's still not convinced you aren't you know.   When I was at lunch he wanted to know if we lived next door and both had kids if they would turn out to be cousins..."

"Wow.  We're having like fifteen different conversations right now…"   He pulls at his collar and clears his throat.  "Do we want to talk about Michael, your sudden fascination with Toby, or you and me moving in together?"

"We're not moving…"  There's a look in his eye that has her trailing off a bit.   "Are we really having this discussion right now?"

"No."  His eyes meet hers and hold.  "But maybe later?"

She sounds a bit breathless as she replies.  "Yeah.  Sure.  Later."

Michael comes racing over, clearly interrupting the moment, and not noticing in the least.  "PAM.  I want to declare today an official office holiday so I guess for once I actually need Toby.   Someone said he's not in today.   Where is he?  A divorce convention?"

Pam blinks and turns to reply to him.  "No.  There was um…a death in his family.   His uncle…"

"I don't care about his uncle.   Man…that is just like him - always off somewhere, never at his desk doing his job."

"Michael.  Tell me something.  What was Jeff's last name?"

Michael blows out a breath and sighs, clearly exasperated.  "I don't know.  Flanderson or something."

Jim winces.  "You're sure it wasn't Flenderson?"

"No I'm not sure.  Look.  I've tried to block out a lot about that time in my life.  Jan says Dr. Perry thinks it's important to live "in the now" and my mom never changed her name."

"OK.  Well.  Michael it's just that…"  Pam leans a little closer to Jim to try and steady herself.  The fact that she hates giving bad news is written all over her face.  "Toby's Great-Uncle died today too.  And his name was Jeff…"

"Michael.  After all this, you are related to Toby."  Dwight interjects, not allowing Pam to soften the blow.  

Wide eyed with shock, Michael shakes his head vehemently.  "No I am not." 

"But you might be…" Jim offers.

"NO.  I might not be."   Michael bends at the waist and begins to hyperventilate.  "I need a plastic bag…"

"I think you mean a paper bag…"  Pam pushes a chair close so Michael can sit down and pleads at Jim with her eyes for him to go check the break room.

"No Pam.  A plastic one.  So I can suffocate myself.   I refuse to be related to Toby…"

"It's OK.  You really aren't though."   She replies, her voice as soothing as possible as she settles him in the chair.   She takes the cup of water Jim brought back with him and tries to give it to Michael.   "He is only related by marriage…"

"Oh right.  Let me tell you something.  That's not even true.  That marriage was a total farce.  Jeff was already married to a woman in Tulsa and another one in Santa Fe when he met my mom.   He was a total misogynist…"

Jim shakes his head.  "I think you mean polygamist."

"Whatever Jim.   This is awful.  All I know now is I'm not related to Spuds Mackenzie, or George C. Scott or Ryan or anyone remotely cool.  I'm not even related to you…"  Michael sounds desolate.  "I'm related to Toby.  This is even worse than being related to Dwight…"

"It wouldn't be that bad…"  Dwight is dejected as he stares at the floor.  "If we were related you could stay at the farm anytime you wanted for free.   I'd even rename the Irrigation Room after you…"

"I'm ruined…"  Michael begins to sniffle.   "I can't go on…"

"I can't believe I'm going to do this."  Jim mutters as he glances at Pam, knowing he won't able to resist the look on her face.  

He takes a deep steadying breath.  "Michael.  If it makes you feel better - Pam and I will come by for dinner on Friday…"

At the sound of that Michael's face brightens immediately.  "Really?  You will?   Will you sing karaoke?  I just bought a new adapter for my Atari.  It's like that Rock Band thing but way better.  They only sell it in Saskatchewan.   You know they're way ahead of us with that stuff over in Asia…"

At this point, Jim doesn't even have it in him to correct him.  "Sure.  Michael."  He nods and then grins when he sees Pam mouth "Thank you."

Miraculously recovered, Michael keeps talking a mile a minute as he walks with Jim and Pam back towards his office, leaving a disappointed Dwight in his wake.  

"You guys can bring the wine.  I don't know what kind of wine goes with Dr Pepper Chicken, but I think Jan pretty much'll drink anything.   It's true.  I actually watched her take a sip from a bottle of raspberry vinaigrette one night…"

xoxoxo

 I am like an explorer.  I set out on unchartered waters to seek my treasure and though it's not quite what I thought I'd find in the beginning, I have found my fortune.   It was the strangest thing.   A couple of months ago, Pam gave me this certificate.  It came in an envelope, all completely official.   Apparently, due to my heritage, I am entitled to 50 cents off Scott Tissue for life.  Sometimes I get it off a single pack, sometimes it's whenever I buy four or more rolls. But the point is - I've gotten one every week since then.   

Now I finally understand. I've always felt a sort of connection,  you know, every time I…um…went number two…I kept wondering about the guy or guys who made it all possible.  And now I know.   I am that guy.   Or…am at least related to the guys.   Either way.   I think I've finally found where I belong. So, I may not be rolling in dough, but it seems that I will now be rolling in paper. 

And not just any paper.  Extra soft and two-ply.    

And that, my friends, is really what it's all about.