October 22. New York.
"Clear your calender, Pammo!" said Alex, barging Kramerlike into Pam's room. "We- we're partying tonight."
Pam dug herself out from the stack of books in which she was presently immersed. "I can't," she sighed.
"Why not?" shouted Stacey from over Alex's shoulder. "You're harshing my mellow, man." He was probably high again.
"I need to study," she complained. "Art history is the end of the week and I've barely studied yet. And I haven't touched Foner's assignment at all. I don't have any time anymore since I started working again." Dunder Mifflin: once again kicking her ass. "It's stressing me out."
"Come on," pleaded Alex. "It's Eric's birthday. He's legal now, so we're all taking him out to get hammered. And you - if you're stressed you could use a break like this." She had to admit that the man was making sense. And she didn't really want to do any more reading about the Lascaux Caves and its mold or do tutorials on software that she hated using. "Fine. I'll go," she said. "But you guys owe me."
"Pam Beesley," admonished Stacey. "Such the mendicant."
Pam and Alex looked at each other in confusion. Mendicant? That had nothing to do with anything. "I do not think that word means what you think it means," they both said at the same time. "Jinx!" yelled Alex. Pam was dumbfounded. Literally.
"How-" she tried to ask, but was shushed by Alex's shushing.
"Nuh uh. You can't talk. Now put your books and pens away and um... get yourself all dolled up. We're leaving in two hours." Pam could do nothing but purse her lips and shake her head in amazement as Alex left the room, basking in victory. She picked up her books and started stacking them.
Stacey, still standing in her doorway, said, "Dude, what just happened here?" Poor guy just wasn't going to get an answer from her.
So later that night found Pam, once again constitutionally allowed to talk, joining most of the floor at Sputnik. Eric was wearing Jaegermeister promotional foam antlers. That's what he got for being the birthday boy. Not that he noticed. They had all been buying him drinks for an hour. The guy had remarkably good equilibrium. Much, much better than her own (not that that was worth much).
The crowd was raucous and boisterous - much more lively than what Pam, in her small town uptight background, was ever used to. She held her mojito protectively in front of her, sucking on the straw occasionally to make it look like she was taking part. Really though, she was overwhelmed and just a bit uncomfortable.
"Hey!" yelled Alex over the din of the crowd. "You having fun?" She nodded her head yes. "Really? 'Caushe you don't look like you're enjoying yourself. What are you drinking there?" he slurred his words slightly.
"Mojito," she replied.
"I don't think it's a gay drink. Mo-ji-to..."
She giggled. "The popularity of the Mojito has probably never been higher. Thanks, Family Guy!"
"How many have you, uh, had?"
Pam shrunk into her seat a bit defensively. "Just this one," she said, shyly. She was a total lightweight. She didn't want... well, what happened last time to happen this time. Here. With... these people.
Alex shook his head in what was no doubt disappointment. "Pam, Pam, Pam... Pam Pam Pam. You need to catch up." He waved a server over who shortly returned and handed her a glass of something dirty, which she was pretty sure the bartender called a 'slow, comfortable screw up against a wall'. It tasted a lot like an Alabama Slammer. She liked those. To be honest, she liked any drink that could come with umbrellas or swords with cherries on them. But she didn't want to get drunk. But everyone was staring at her with these disappointed faces, and she succumbed to peer pressure like all the guidance counsellors in school told her not to. She ordered something that came with an umbrella. Screw them. If they were worth listening to, they wouldn't have ended up high school guidance counsellors, would they?
An undetermined amount of time later, Pam's head was spinning and she felt a little bit queasy. But she wasn't on the outside looking in anymore. Everyone was gathered around one of those low tables, squeezed in real tight and laughing and giggling and otherwise acting like retards. It was the most fun she'd had since... had she ever had this much fun? Still, she was getting tired. Maybe it was time to call it a night. "What time is it?" she asked quietly to Alex. He shrugged, so Pam dug around in her purse to find her cell phone, flipped it open clumsily and tried to find the clock. "Holy crap! It's three in the morning. We have class first thing in the morning tomorrow!"
"Pam, don't be a wet blanket," moaned Cindy. "Look, the kitchen is still open!" And yes, amazingly the kitchen was still serving up burgers to the barely thinned crowd. And that's how Pam ended up at a bar until the wee hours of the morning.
Stacey stood up and rang a glass with the fork left over from his supposedly best burger in the universe. "Today we celebrate Eric's 21st. No wait. Yesterday we celebrated Eric's 21st. But since we're all too cheap to buy him any presents, we're going to play a game. In honor of our wonderful RA Pam's embarrassing and hilarious event in ceramics class last week, we're going to go around telling one horribly embarrassing secret and or event from our pasts. And... go."
"Where's the game?" asked Kay.
"After every story, we take a shot. If you won't tell, you take two shots and everyone takes a shot. And... go."
'Shot!' So they got to learn that Kay threw up her first ever Guinness in Ireland and also her second. She had managed to hold down her third before puking her fourth all over her Irish 'boyfriend' thus ending her overseas affair and her experimentation with stouts. 'Shot!' The got to hear how Stacey liked to burn stuff and ended up in juvey for it. 'Shot!' They got to hear what kind of sexual depravity a Catholic high school education gets you from Cindy. Eric really liked that one, but he ended up passed out while sitting up in between Shawn and Kay - before he could make any lecherous comments. While drooling. Then it was Pam's turn.
"Crap," she said.
"Oh, this will be a good one," promised Cindy.
Pam shook her head no. "I don't even know what I'm going to say yet," she protested. She tried in vain to think of something that fulfilled the criteria while being suitably unmortifying. Pity she wasn't a better liar.
Alex grinned like an idiot. "I bet it's dirty," he singsonged.
What popped then into Pam's mind certainly fit the criteria, but no way. No. Way. "You are such a dork!" she yelled, hitting him on the chest but not really that hard. "Shot! Okay, I am not telling that!"
"You can take the girl out of Philly -" started Stacey.
"Scranton!" Pam corrected him, checking her phone again. "And it doesn't matter what you say because I'm not saying it. And I left my cell phone on and I'm wasting my battery." She turned it off and put it away. Good thing she caught that or else she wouldn't be able to use it tomorrow.
"Pfft. Like that counts. Come on, Pam. Spill your guts or you'll have to drink another one."
"No."
"Pam..."
"No..."
"Pam."
"No."
"Pam!"
"No!"
"Pa-am."
"No-o."
"PAM."
"NO."
"pam."
"no."
"You'll have to do another shot."
"Fine! Last year at my office's Christmas party I made out with my now fiancé's then girlfriend in the ladies room of the office."
"OH MY GOD!" was the general sentiment around the table. And rightly so.
"We were both really drunk," Pam defended herself. "And she hates me now. Not because of that. Because of stealing my fiancé. Boyfriend. I'm not gay." God, she hoped that none of them remembered this the next day. With her luck, they would though. Lousy alcohol induced liberalness. You think she would have learned her lesson.
The next morning. Or later that night, as the case may be, Pam and Alex staggered into class. Stacey had elected to stay in bed instead, and Eric was in no condition to make any such choice.
"I didn't say anything embarrassing last night, did I?" Pam asked, full of worry as her brain removed the previous night's fuzz.
"Not that I recall," replied Alex. "We were all pretty wasted. I think you're safe," he added in a whisper.
"Thanks."
They settled in near the back and class got started. Pam tried to learn but she was finding it harder and harder to concentrate on QuarkXPress 7 when the allure of closed eyelids was becoming increasingly tempting. Five minutes later, she was sound asleep, resting her head on Alex's shoulder.
Author's Chapter Notes:
The first three chapters were just appetizer. Here's where the meat begins.
Chapter End Notes:
Sputnik is a real bar right next door to the Pratt Institute and they do claim to make the best burgers in the universe or something like that and do keep the kitchen open really late. I've never been, but I looked at their website.
