As the first few episodes of the season started airing, the volume of fan mail started increasing. Jim had been expecting that there would be some mail, but he thought that now that he was at Stamford, he’d get less than he used to back in Scranton. He was wrong. He got letters. His coworkers got letters. Good thing they were in the paper business.

 The volume of letters got to be such a burden that Julie the temp was given the job of collecting them, sorting them and then doling them out once a week so that it wouldn’t distract them all from selling paper.

Jim’s pile was always the largest.  Every Friday, he’d shuffle through his stack not willing to admit to himself that he was looking for another plain white envelope. He mentally kicked himself because he had forgotten to check the postmark on the last one before shredding the envelope. He wondered if maybe…just maybe it was from Scranton, but then chided himself because how pathetic was that? He usually just shoved the stack of letters, unopened, into his bottom desk drawer.

A few of his new Stamford coworkers got smaller piles of correspondence. Karen’s was the largest next to his and that made sense. She was young and pretty and smart. She was the kind of woman young girls looked up to and young men wanted to look down at. He could understand why people would write to her. Andy got a smaller stack and Josh received a few letters here and there. Most of them were from men. Jim didn’t want to try to puzzle that out. 

He knew it was egotistical and somewhat vain, but he wondered if his co-workers' letters mentioned him…mentioned Scranton…mentioned her.

He didn’t have to wonder long, though. One Friday at 4:45, Karen perched herself on the corner of his desk, a pink piece of stationary in her hand.

“Who’s Pam?” He wheeled his chair back a few feet, hoping for an escape.

“What’s that?”

“Pam? Who is she?”

“She’s the um…receptionist at Scranton. Why?” He had practiced sounding non-defensive and nonchalant for so many years, he hoped his skills weren’t rusty.

“It’s just that Penny in Tuscaloosa wants me to tell you that she misses the way that you and Pam used to play pranks on some guy named Dwight. Does that make sense to you?”

“Oh…yeah.  I’ve told you about Dwight, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Did Penny say anything else?” He phrased as if he were wanting to make a joke…have a laugh at some poor fan’s expense.

“Nope. That’s it.”

“Cool.”

After that, the production company started screening the fan mail that came to the Stamford branch and their stacks got slightly smaller. There had been no explanation or memo, just a day when the little bundles came to them already opened, each letter tucked back into the expertly slit envelope. They claimed they were doing it as a service to them, but Jim figured they couldn’t risk having a fan ruin some future dramatic moment.  He told himself that’s why he hadn’t seen a plain white envelope in months. He told himself he was relieved. He wanted to forget and didn’t need some well-meaning fan dragging up things he was doing his best not to dwell on.

Sometime in the middle of October, though, a plain white envelope was waiting for him, halfway through his weekly stack. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath when he noticed it was postmarked “Albany”.  It was just a well-meaning fan. He told himself that he could just throw it in the drawer with the rest of the unwanted mail, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to resist it sitting there, calling out to him.  He reluctantly put it in his messenger bag and waited until he was home, safely on his couch before he pulled the paper out of the envelope and began to read.

Dear Jim—

It’s me again. It’s your biggest fan.

I don’t know if you got my last letter or if you even read it, but I’m going to pretend that you did. I like imagining that we’re having this ongoing conversation. Is that okay with you? I hope so.

I can see from the show that Stamford is treating you well. I don’t know if it’s the lighting in your new office or the sea air or what, but you look different…and I mean that in a good way. Your new suits suit you as well. Suits suit…ha ha. I’m glad to see that you’re fitting in and making friends. I was worried about you. I don’t doubt your ability to charm anyone you meet, but I was worried that you’d shut yourself off and just through yourself into your work. It makes me smile to see you pulling pranks the way you used to.

I don’t know if you’re watching your own show. I wonder if you know what’s been going on in Scranton. It’s weird, but things have been pretty much the same (Kelly crises, Michael kissing Oscar, Dwight almost getting fired, bird funerals) but they seem really different without you there. It’s like something is missing. I guess you are, duh…but I don’t know. It’s like somehow your presence in that office made the weirdness a little…less weird? Does that make sense?

Anyway. That brings me to one of the things I wanted to talk to you about in this letter. I thought it would be only fair if I told you why I’m such a fan of yours. You must be wondering, right? Or maybe not. I’ll tell you anyway, okay?

I’m a fairly new fan. I watched all of the first two seasons of yours show over the summer. I had never seen it before and I had a lot of time by myself for the first time in a long time, so I got the DVDs. And of course I’ve been watching the new season. I recently watched the episode about the convention and I think what happened at the end of it sums up why I’m such a huge fan of yours, Jim.

Here's why. No matter how crazy or rude or inappropriate he gets. No matter who he offends or how un-selfaware he is, you are always kind to Michael. You went to his silly party and you drank his girly drinks. When nobody else…not even Dwight was there for him, you stepped up to the plate. I’ve seen it time and time again, too. Going to Hooters, singing with him at your party…Jim, you have a tremendous heart.

You are the kind of person we all want to grow up to be. I know you’re probably shaking your head and making some sort of disparaging comment about paper salesmen right now, but you know what I mean. If we could all treat people the way that you treat Michael…the world would be a much better place. That’s one of the things that made me such a fan of yours.

Of course that tremendous heart of yours has gotten you into trouble too, hasn’t it? I know it’s been broken. Just, Jim…don’t be afraid to let people in. You don’t have to shoulder all of the burden, you know?  It’s okay for people to see the guy behind the pranks and the silly faces. I hope this doesn’t sound creepy, but I think I’ve seen him. He’s gentle and kind and he’d do anything…anything for a friend…even for Michael.

Have I rambled on enough? Are you getting a restraining order yet?

Hopefully not, because I’ll be writing again and I have a lot more to say. Even if you aren’t reading these letters.

Let me close by saying that all that I want…all that your true fans want…is for you to be happy, Jim. Even if that means you aren’t with Pam. And as your biggest fan, I want that for you most of all. I just don’t want you letting your pride and your hurt get in the way of you getting what you want. Think about tha, okay?

‘Til next time,

Your Biggest Fan  

P.S. Have you thought about calling her?

Jim leaned back on the couch and exhaled. He looked down at the Albany postmark and down at his phone.

He thought about Michael and winter cruises and secrets.

He thought about cards and smiles and a look of terror on her face.

He thought about I cant’s and misinterpretations and nods and hands slipping away.

He thought about distance and time and about hearing things he should have heard from her from Kevin.

He tried to think about pride and hurt and happiness.

And then he was too tired to think.

He crumpled the letter into a ball wondered about how low he’d have to be to listen to strangers…to someone who knew him only from television.

He'd have to be a total loser to start taking suggestions from fan letters.

Even if they were right.