“…and I think if we can all remain focused on pushing the 25% rag content to all of our regular customers, we can increase our profit for the 3rd quarter. Is everyone with me?” Josh tended to run his staff meetings like a cool, high school football coach. It was a far cry from what Michael usually did (or attempted to do), but Jim didn’t really feel like being inspired to sell more paper. He didn’t feel inspired to do much these days, truth be told.
The Stamford sales team nodded vigorously in agreement and started closing their meeting folders, ready to head back out to their phones and start making a difference or something.
“Oh, and one more thing. Jim’s documentary has started airing again and apparently that means an influx of fan mail.” Josh gestured down at the small bundle of letters bound together by an industrial rubber band (catalog #RB54321) “Jim, you seem to be pretty popular!”
Jim put his head down, trying to block out the snickers that now echoed through the conference room. Another characteristic that Josh shared with coaches Jim remembered from school was that he liked to “playfully” humiliate members of his squad. Apparently, today Jim was the brunt of the joke.
“Are any of those stamped ‘Federal Penitentiary’, Tuna?” Andy thumped him on the back.
“Ha Ha, Andy. Looking for a date?” He wasn’t going to stick around, though, to exchange barbs with Andy. He reached out and grabbed the stack from Josh and quickly made his way back to his desk before someone got the brilliant idea to open them and start reading them in front of the group.
He had just slammed the bundle in his desk drawer, when Karen’s voice assaulted him from behind.
“So, Halpert. You have fans?”
“Apparently, I do. Some people idolize small-town paper salesmen, so you know….” He was trying to keep this light. Karen was known for her wicked sense of humor and he was worried that there were things in those letters he didn’t want people in the office to know.
“Do you get a lot of those letters?”
“Not too many. Most people just write to the network. A few enterprising souls look up our actual work addresses and send things here. Just wait…you’ll get some. Even Dwight and Angela got some.”
“Those weirdos you told me about? Really.”
“Yup. You’ll never know who will be attracted to what, I guess.”
“So, can I read one?”
“You don’t want to do that. They’re stupid and boring.”
“Hiding something?” In a way he was. Knowing the tone that his fan mail typically took (‘Just tell Pam how you feel, you idiot!’) he was sure that this new stack was full of fallout from Casino Night. He hadn’t told anyone in Stamford about his past life and didn’t want to. He figured he’d appease her in the hopes that she’d back off.
“Meet me in the kitchen in 2 minutes. I don’t want….” He titled his head toward Andy and Karen had enough sense to realize what he meant. He opened the drawer and quickly riffled through the letters. He saw the words Casino Night over and over, but there were a few innocuous (embarrassing, but innocuous) notes he could share with Karen. He picked them up and headed back toward the kitchen.
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“Dear Jim!!!! You are so hot!!! You are like hotter than anyone on TV!!! Will you date me? Love Amy.” Karen read the note aloud in an excited teeny-bopper voice. “Awww…she sounds like a winner, Jim. Are you going to write her back?”
“Very funny. Do you see why I didn’t want to share these?”
“I think they’re sweet. Wait. This one is interesting. ‘Dear Jim. You seem like a sensible fellow. I can’t understand why you work so hard in an industry that is depleting our earth’s precious and diminishing forests. Please contact me if you’d like to stage a public protest on your program to teach the world about the folly of paper.’ He called you a fellow!”
“There are a lot of those. People who think I shouldn’t eat white bread or sell paper or drive a non-hybrid car. There are a lot of freaks. Wait until some sort of women’s decency group comes after you for wearing pants. “
“Seriously?”
He just nodded, but he could see that her interest in reading all of his fan mail had waned.
“Well, I still think you should give Amy a chance. She did use all of those exclamation marks!”
“I’ll put her on the top of my stack. Now, should we get back to work, Fillipelli? Those forests won’t deplete themselves, you know.”
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Later that evening, after all of the other employees had left for the day, Jim pulled the stack of letters out of his drawer. Something inside of him was curious about what they said about that night last May and the revelation that he had moved to Stamford. Maybe he was looking for vindication…for just one person to tell him that he had done the right thing. He felt pathetic and desperate, but he still shuffled through the stacks of stationary and photos, trying to get a handle on how his actions had been perceived.
“Jim, your an idiot. Go back too Pam before its to late!!”Like he’d take advice from someone who couldn’t manage the simple conventions of written English.
“Jim, you must be so sad! I don’t live all that far from Stamford. Check out my photo and call me if you want to get together and talk. I’m a great listener!”He shook his head and chuckled. If he’d follow up on half of these letters, he wouldn’t be lonely for over a month. What on earth did these women see in him? They’d seen how stupid and pathetic he had been…how broken he had become. Who would want to come anywhere near him?
The last letter in the stack caught his attention. It was typed on plain paper and in a plain white envelope. There were no hearts or personalized letterhead and the normal sounding prose made this one stand out from the rest.
Dear Jim,It’s good to see you on TV again. I’ve missed you a lot over the summer and I’m glad the cameras have followed you to your new city.
You don’t know me, but I’m your biggest fan. I suppose that sounds weird to you and I apologize if it sounds creepy, but it’s true. I’m your biggest fan and I mean that in the real sense of the word. I’m not looking to cash in on your ‘celebrity’ or get you to notice me like I bet the majority of people who write you letters and claim to be your fan do .I think of a fan as someone who supports someone else. And Jim, I support you. I understand why you did what you did last May and I’m worried that you’re spending a lot of your time beating yourself up for it all. You don’t have to do that.
Granted your confession and the events that came after it weren’t perfect, but I can tell from watching the show that you didn’t plan any of it out. It just happened. It happened, Jim, because you let yourself speak from the heart instead of hiding behind the wall your head constructed and that’s not a bad thing. Sure, your timing sucked and I think you can appreciate that too. I also think I understand why you had to get away…especially when Pam told you she was still going to marry Roy. I get it, really. And maybe deep down, Pam does too.
Feelings, especially ones as deep as those you have for Pam, are complicated, aren’t they? I know that you’ve probably bounced around a bunch of them in the last few months…disappointment, shame, anger and regret have probably been your companions. I’m betting that you’ve been trying to tell yourself that you made a mistake and that you wish that you had kept your mouth shut. Don’t do that, Jim. Don’t dwell on what’s already happened. Just try to do that, okay?
I’ll be writing you again and I’ll have more to say to you (if you even open these letters at all), but I just want to leave you with this thought. What you did wasn’t perfect and you know it. You could have done things differently, we both know that. But just know this…what Pam did wasn’t perfect either. She made some mistakes and is probably beating herself up as much as you are. Think about that, okay?
Until Next Time.
Your biggest fan
Jim looked up from the letter and noticed the darkened sky and the passing of almost an hour on the clock. He head read this particular message several times trying to get a handle on it and who could have possibly written it. Who did this person think he? she? was? How could they presume to know how he was feeling? How could they be so dead on?
It was probably some overly obsessed fan who was trying to score points by trying to sound normal, but there was something about the letter that seemed sincere to him.
He picked up the stack of letters and carried them over to the shredder, not wanting them to fall into the wrong hands, but he carefully placed the note from his biggest fan in the inside pocket of his messenger bag.
He had a lot to think about.
