Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
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“Dunder Mifflin, this is Pam.”
“Pam, it’s Michael,” she heard over the phone. “Come see me. Come see me right now.”
“Michael, what’s wrong?”
“I'm hurt. Oh my God!!!”
“You’re hurt?” Pam looked doubtful. “Again?”
“Oh, this is not looking good Pam!”
“Michael, do you need me to call you an ambulance?”
“What?” asked Jim, who was in his usual position, leaning on the reception desk.
“No, I don’t need an ambulance. I’m already in the hospital.”
“Okay,” Pam said.
“What's going on this time?” Jim asked.
“Ohh!”
“What happened?” Pam asked.
“I am hurt. My foot is hurt.”
“I'm sorry?” Jim asked. “Pam, what's going on?”
“I want you all to come visit me.”
Jim reached over the desk and hit the speakerphone button.
“Ohh, God!” Michael said over the speakerphone.
Angela looked over to see what was transpiring.
“Hey, whoa! Michael!” Jim said.
“Oh, God!”
“It's okay. It's Jim. Just say again, really loudly, uh, what happened.”
“Okay. I was shot in the foot.”
Everybody in the office was listening now.
“You burned your foot on the George Foreman Grill again?”
“No, of course not. How stupid do you think I am? I was shot in the foot, very badly in the foot, and I now need everyone to come to the hospital to see me.”
“You shot yourself in the foot? How’d you manage that?”
“No, someone else shot my foot.”
“Shot with what? Like one of those new-fangled computer cameras? Why would anyone want to take a picture of your foot?”
“No, shot with a gun, you idiot.”
The office was silent.
“Pam, could you come see me?”
“Uh, I have to stay here and answer the phone.”
“Okay, could everyone else come and see me, please? Ryan?”
Ryan froze at the mention of his name.
“Michael, you should stay there and rest,” Pam said.
“I can’t rest. They’re trying to make me use a bedpan. They won’t take me to use the bathroom. Can someone come and take me to the bathroom?”
“Can you hop?” Kevin asked.
"I can’t hop, Kevin. I’m bedridden!”
People snickered.
“No one wants to come see me?”
Creed, in the background, shook his head.
Dwight walked up.
“What is going on? What is going on?” Dwight asked.
Trying not to laugh, Pam said, “Michael is, um” – she drew air quotes – “sick – again. And he wants us to go the hospital to rescue him – again.”
“I'm not sick; I'm –”
“I'm coming, Michael!”
Dwight sprinted to his desk and grabbed his keys.
“I'm going to save you! Michael is in trouble!”
“Don't! Is that Dwight? I do not want Dwight.”
“Okay, hold on Michael, I am coming! Wait there!”
Dwight sprinted out of the office.
“I do not want Dwight!”
“Michael, why don't you call your girlfriend?” Pam asked.
“You know damn well I don't have a girlfriend. Just, someone come, okay? Anyone. Anyone but Dwight.”
“You know what, I think I’m going to go with Dwight,” said Jim, turning serious.
“Why?” Pam asked, surprised.
“So Dwight doesn’t suffer a real injury – another concussion. But I guess what I'm most concerned with damage is to company property, that's all. I don’t want Dwight crashing into that fence again.”
“That fence is actually owned by Beackman Properties,” Pam said in her best teacher voice.
“Of course. How silly of me.”
“It’s okay. We all make mistakes.”
“All right, well I’m going to get going before it’s too late.”
“Okay. Call me, babe.”
“I will, babe.”
Jim quickly kissed Pam and rushed out of the office.
“Hello? Please don't send Dwight.”
TO BE CONTINUED....
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© 2006-2023 More Than That | Skin created by Kali
© 2006-2023 More Than That | Skin created by Kali