Jim reclined in his desk chair, letting his computer screen blur and tapping his fingers on his desk, bored. Pam was out for the day, at an interview for an art school she was applying to. Dwight was engrossed in something on his computer screen, and even Michael had managed to refrain from any major distractions that morning.
So when Jim’s cell phone rang, he was more than happy to pick it up.
“Hello?” he said, not bothering to check the screen for who it was.
“Hey!” said the voice on the other line.
“Who is this?”
“Seriously, Jim? Would it kill you to check caller id? I need a favor. Are you busy?”
“Pam, honestly, I expected more of you. You know I’m not busy.”
“Great. I need you to go to my house, get my computer, and email one of my files to me. I need it for this interview or they probably won’t even consider me.”
“On it. Thank you, for giving me something other to do than count the pores on Dwight’s face.”
“Ew, is that what you were doing?”
“Um… No…”
“Great, okay, just grab the spare key out of my desk and then call me when you get there.”
“Okay, talk to you soon.”
Jim clicked off the phone, smiling. Dutiful boyfriend he was, he was going to have to blow off the rest of work that day for this. He debated telling Michael he was leaving, but finally decided to slip out quietly. No one in the office even looked up from their desk.
As Jim pulled into the tiny gray parking lot at the foot of Pam’s apartment complex, he called her again on his cell phone. She picked up on the first ring.
“Are you there?”
“Yup, in the elevator right now.”
“Great, my computer is in my room, on the black dresser where-“
“Pam, I know where your computer is, I’ve been in your room a billion times.”
“Don’t make me blush.”
Jim jiggled open the old lock on Pam’s apartment door, slipping inside. The lights were all off, but late afternoon light slanted through the windows, giving everything an orange glow. Jim had never been here without Pam, and now everything felt too quiet, like he was a thief breaking and entering.
Pam’s computer was in its usual spot on top of her dresser, plugged into its charging cable. Jim grabbed it and flopped over on the bed, pulling it open.
“What’s your password?” he asked tentatively. It felt like a weird question.
“It’s pam111.”
“Seriously? Your computer’s gonna get hacked with a password like that.”
“And who would want to hack into my crappy eight year old laptop?”
“Me, maybe.”
“Well know I’ll just have to change the password.”
“Pam222, maybe?”
“Possibly.”
“Okay, I’m in, where’s the file?”
“It should be under my work folder, it’s just some recommendation Michael wrote for me.”
Jim clicked through the files until he found the one labeled work. He clicked it, and several document links popped up. Skimming through them looking for something labeled recommendation or Michael Scott or Dunder Mifflin. But the thing he saw first was labeled with a single word: Jim.
“Jim, you still there?” Pam’s anxious voice came through the cell phone. “I’m running out of time here.”
“Got it, found it,” Jim stuttered, spotting the right folder. He opened up his own email and sent it to her. When she received it a moment later on her phone, Jim heard her breathe an audible sigh of relief. The two hung up on the phone, and Jim was left staring at the computer screen. According to the computer, Pam hadn't opened this file for months. Whatever was in here was probably just something from work, and she'd titled it Jim to remember that's what it was. Every part of Jim was screaming to put the laptop down, leave, and keep out of Pam’s stuff, but a smaller, more curious part reminded him that if it was labeled with his name, he had a right to read it.
This he held in mind as he hesitantly clicked the folder.
Author's Chapter Notes:
Pam is interviewing for an art program.
