AN: Hey guys, this story (like the majority of mine) was inspired by a song. This time it's "Extraordinary Machine" by Fiona Apple. I don't know if this one quite relates to the lyrics, but it just sort of took off on its own as I was writing. We've all dealt with renegade stories. They have minds and directions of their own. Well, enjoy and please review! Oh, and I highly recommend this song. It's amazing.
"If there was a better way to go then it would find me.
I can't help it; the road just rose out behind me.
Be kind to me, or treat me mean.
I'll make the most of it,
I'm an extraordinary machine."
"Extraordinary Machine" Fiona Apple
Pam amazes herself sometimes. She is able to sit in moments of rare peace and instead of doing her job (not that there's too much to do), she observes her co-workers. She likens it to sitting in a Paris café, sipping and casually remarking on the passersby. She's pretty sure this office is a much more enlightening place to people-watch than outside in the Paris sunlight, but then, she's not had a chance to drink authentic café au lait yet. Her bitter coffee must be just as tasty and her desk should be close in quality to a quaint little table near the sidewalks. Regardless of how the setting stands up to the competition though, she knows that nowhere could she find more entertaining subjects to study.
They all tick so uniquely; they are all custom made watches from Switzerland that don't keep, but make time. It's more than the fact that they are individuals with certain characteristics and personalities; it's that they seem to emanate distinctiveness. She's positive that nowhere in Paris, or Europe for that matter, could she find someone as quietly and warmly confident and reserved as Phyllis or anyone as coldly and righteously perfect as Angela. Of course, she knows that people all share the same emotions and characteristics just to different extents, but she can't help feeling that this crowd is somehow separate from the rest of the world.
She wonders if she is also separate; if she gives herself as much credit as the folks she works with. She can't help but wonder what the others would say of her if given the opportunity. She can't help wonder what the strangers in the Paris café would say should she pass them on the street. Would she be described as kind, compassionate, creative, witty, or special? Or rather would they mark her as pathetic, trapped, unmotivated, or foolish? Frankly, she'd place herself in the latter group. For a while there, she felt alive again. She felt positive and confident and as though she had forward momentum. Now she's reverting back. No matter what else it was, her cage certainly was comfortable and she had grown fond of it.
After all, she is still here isn't she? A receptionist at Dunder-Mifflin with nothing better to do than analyze her co-workers. Who says she couldn't go to Paris? Think of the history, the art, the romance. Think of the coffee she could drink!
She's always figured the opportunity would just present itself, but it hasn't yet and she's worried it might not ever arise. Though, should it come up now, it's not a guarantee she'd go. Who wants to go to the most romantic city in the world alone when you could stay in secure Scranton? He'd want her to go. He'd force her to in fact. He'd say, 'Think of the history, the art!' She knows he'd leave out the most important part of that sentence because it's just too much to think about still. What frightens her though is that it's becoming harder for her to think about it than it is for him.
No, she'll stay where she's safe. There's nothing wrong in wanting stability and the absence of pain. She's long been adept at making the most of situations, regardless of the circumstances. It's no big stretch for her to do the same again.
Yes, she certainly does amaze herself; she's extraordinary in her sameness and her willingness to stay that way. Well, if nothing else, at least she knows what to expect when she sips the coffee: bitterness with the distinction of flavor.