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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Just as Dwight was about to close the door to his car, Jim yelled across the parking lot, “Hey, Dwight, let me come along.”
“Absolutely not. A hospital is a serious place, Jim. I'm not going to let you or your sorry excuse for comedy anywhere near our patient.”
“Dwight, I just want to make sure you don't get another concussion.”
“That's ridiculous. I'm not going to get another concussion.”
“Probably not, but just in case, I think I should come with you. Because if you get another concussion, then you won't be able to help Michael.”
“This is true. All right, you can come.”
“Let's go in my car.”
“Jim, speed is of the essence, and you drive a girly car. It might be too late by the time we get there.”
“Then let me drive your car.”
“You're joking. This is a 1987 Pontiac Trans Am. You couldn't handle this car. Just get in – we're wasting time.”
“All right, but you have to promise to drive safely.”
“Okay, fine.”
“Say you promise.”
“All right, I promise to drive safely. Now will you get in?”
“Okay.”
“And don't touch anything.”
“Don't touch anything? Like what – gadgets? Dwight, this isn't an Aston Martin.”
“This car is a weapon, Jim.”
“All right, Dwight, I promise not to touch your cassette deck.”
Before Jim knew it, Dwight had screeched out of the parking lot, almost crashing into the pole again. This was all Jim could ask for. He breathed a sigh of relief. Before he knew it, they were at the hospital. And before he knew it, Dwight had bolted from the car and was halfway to the hospital entrance.
Dwight charged up to the counter. “Which room is Michael Scott in?”
“I'll be with you in one moment,” said the nurse, who was on the phone.
“I don't have a minute to spare. This is an emergency.”
“Please, sir.”
“Do you have any idea who Michael Scott is? He is a very important man around Scranton. He's the regional manager of Dunder Mufflin Scranton.”
“I said one moment.”
“Do you have any idea who I am? I'm a Sheriff's deputy, and I can have the whole department down here like that,” he said, snapping his fingers.
The nurse turned her back to him, ignoring him.
“Damn it!” Dwight shouted.
He furiously paced back and forth for what seemed like him to an eternity – in reality it was truly less than a minute – until the nurse hung up the phone.
“What room is Michael Scott in?”
“Michael Scott? Hmm, let me see.”
She started typing on her computer.
“What kind of antique is that? Is that a Tandy? Are you using a Tandy?”
“Just be patient, sir. I assure you we have the most modern equipment.”
Dwight resumed pacing, until the nurse said, “Oh, yes, Mr. Scott. That one.” The emphasis was completely lost on Dwight. “He's in room 69.”
“That wasn't so hard, now was it?”
As Dwight was about to step into the elevator, he caught sight of Jim entering.
“He's in room 69. What took you so long?”
“Sure he is, Dwight. I had to park the car. You left it in an emergency zone. At a hospital. Isn't that against the law?”
“Desperate times call for desperate measures.”
As they rode up in the elevator, Dwight continually pressed the button for Michael's floor.
“Thats not going to make it go any faster.”
“That's because it's a stupid elevator,” Dwight said and continued pressing the button, even more frequently now.
When the door opened, Dwight darted out. Jim followed casually behind. Dwight opened a door and was greeted with an almost blood-curdling scream. He quickly shut the door.
“I think that was some sort of pigwoman”
“Sure it was, Dwight.”
Thankfully, Dwight picked the correct room on the second try. He found Michael in a hospital bed watching 'Days of Our Lives' sipping from a Capri-Sun.
“Michael!”
“I told them not to send you? Why did they send you? Get out of here! Do you want to kill me?”
“You're obviously not thinking clearly.”
“I'm thinking perfectly clearly. Ah, Jim!” He saw Jim step into the doorway, but he didn't notice the look of mild surprise on Jim's face when he saw Michael. “Thank God you came. Where's everyone else? Where's Pam? Where's Ryan?”
“It's just Dwight and me.”
“Damn it. Is it so much to ask the entire office to come and see me? Well, at least you're here. Now you can take me to the bathroom.”
“That's what Dwight is for.”
“Ugh, gross.”
“So, Michael,” Jim said, “you must have burned yourself pretty badly on the Foreman Grill to wind up in the hospital. What exactly did you do?”
“How many times do I have to tell people? I didn't burn myself on the Foreman Grill. I was shot.”
“In your foot?”
“In my foot.”
“With a gun?”
“With a gun.”
“By someone else?”
“By someone else.”
“So if I go out into the hallway and find a nurse and ask her why you're in here, she'll tell me that someone shot you in the foot?”
“Yes. And while you're out there, ask if she can take me to the bathroom. But not the one who looks like Meredith. The one who looks kinda like Pam.”
“Michael, if you're telling the truth, I will take you to the bathroom myself.”
“Really?”
Jim hadn't seen Michael this excited in a while.
“Sure.”
Jim walked into the hallway and asked the first nurse he found, “Excuse me, but could you tell me why Michael Scott in room 69 is here?”
“Oh, that one. He was shot in the foot.”
“With what?”
“A gun.”
“But he shot himself, right?”
“No, it appears that someone else shot him.”
Jim gulped.
After the shock had worn off, he dialed a number on his phone.
“Dunder Mifflin, this is Pam.”
“Pam, it's Jim. Someone actually shot Michael in the foot.”
Pam knew Jim's voice well enough to tell that he was being completely serious.
“Oh my God.”
“Yeah.”
“I'll get everyone down there as quickly as possible. See you soon.”
“See you soon.”
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