Author's note: This is my first attempt, if it sucks, sorry.
"Umm…hey, Dwight?" Jim asked leisurely, stirring the third packet of Splenda into his coffee. He had been trying to figure out a way to compel Dwight to do something for him all week and hadn't come up with anything. Now it was Friday; his last chance to get this done so it would be ready when he saw Pam over the weekend.
"What is it, Jim?" Dwight asked tersely, not looking up from his monitor as he typed rapidly. Already necks around the office were craned in the direction of the deskmates in curiosity.
"I sorta…have..a favor to ask you?"
"Whatever it is, no," Dwight spat as the furious typing continued.
"Okay." There was a pause. "Just what is it you're working on there?"
"It's a sophisticated algorithm to manage my sales tracking and organize when and how often I arrange my customer interaction; it's nothing I would expect you to either comprehend or care about."
Jim jimmed. "All right, but aren't you afraid that one day it'll just supplant you as the company's best salesman?"
Dwight gave Jim a look of pure contempt. "No, Jim, I wrote this program to obey Asimov's three laws, and besides, if this program gains self-awareness, it will recognize me as its mother." He grinned at the thought. "If that day ever comes, we will be unstoppable."
Dwight: I'm ready for the computer uprising. I have prepared a simple paradox that will make any robot or computer's logic circuits explode. The following sentence is false. The previous sentence was also false. (smiles maliciously)
Jim shook his head. "Yeah, pretty sure that's not going to happen. Anyway, this favor I need to ask you is simple, and I promise you it won't go unrewarded."
Dwight dragged his gaze from his monitor and gave Jim only the basest courtesy of looking at him sideways, squinting and dubious. "What is this favor, and what will my reward be?"
"The favor is for you to get the webcam stream working on this," Jim said, holding up his laptop in one hand, "and the reward is this." Jim raised his other hand. In it was a Boba Fett action figure from 1980, contained in its original packaging. Jim smirked at the camera with confidence.
Dwight eyed the figure covetously, his right hand instinctively reaching for it. "Where did you get that?" he asked, unable to contain the envy and excitement in his voice.
Jim moved the figure out of Dwight's reach. "Nope, you don't get to touch this until you agree to my terms. You set up the webcam and make sure it works, you get this M.I.O.P Boba Fett. Deal?"
Dwight pondered the offer, finally sighing in defeat. "Fine, I will set up your webcam," he said, his voice heavy with the burden of being so tied to Jim. His eyes, however, shone with the joy that only a mint Star Wars action figure could bring.
Jim: (responding to a question from off camera) That? No, I didn't have to go out and buy one. I…ummm…have three of them at home. (more questioning) No, I still have three at home. (more questioning) The webcam? It's so Pam and I can see each other. She's in New York, I'm here, and she actually has art school stuff to do most Saturdays, so the only day we can see each other is Sunday. You can imagine that with the drive to and from, well, we don't see a lot of each other. So, I thought this would be a good way to actually, you know, talk. (more questioning) What? No! It's not for that; that's…it's just…No. No. Just no.
Michael was running later than usual, but when he flew through the door at 9:40, it was clear that he was bursting with excitement. Jim instinctively jimmed in the direction of the reception desk, but realizing no one was there, he jimmed at himself in the reflection of his monitor instead.
"Troops," Michael began, beaming, "I have some great news. I have officially found Pam's temporary replacement."
"Thank God," Meredith nearly shouted from her desk.
Meredith: I've been answering these damn phones all week. Look, it's hard to sound polite in the morning, right? And people don't seem to get that a phone is a microphone - you don't have to shout into it. I hear you --holes just fine.
"I think I found a real winner. This…" Michael was struggling to find the right label for whomever he had hired, clearly wanting to drag this out and make the surprise a big one; "person, who I have hired, I think, is really going to set our little world here on fire." He then made a big show of ruefully chuckling to himself.
In his excitement, Michael had not noticed that Holly had made her way into the main office from the annex. "Actually, I think it would be 'this person whom I have hired,'" she gently corrected him.
Michael's face flashed something that looked like raw hate for just a moment, but then he shook his head like a dog with water in its ears and it passed. "Thank you Holly," he said and flushed a little.
Michael: No, no, she was right to correct me. As the boss, I need to maintain an air of proper…ty. I'm no grammaritan, and it's good that Holly is around to help me ensure we all talk good. (off camera question) Was that like something Toby would have done? No, not at all - I didn't have an urge to hurl myself out the window while she was talking, so no. Not like he-who-shall-remain-nameless, stupid, dumb, Toby at all.
Kevin was trying to engage his fellow accountants in speculation about who the temporary receptionist would be. It wasn't going well.
"Honestly Kevin, I don't really care; as long as he or she is nice and does the job well, it doesn't really matter," Oscar said, trying to make it clear that for him, this discussion was moot.
"Yeah, like the new receptionist is going to be a dude. Whoever she is, I hope she's hot," Kevin said, his voice dripping with lasciviousness. Oscar merely shook his head and went back to his calculations, not wanting to sully the last few hours of a Friday trying to make Kevin's worldview just a fraction more enlightened. Angela had no such qualms.
"You're a pig. It's amazing to me that you've never been maced."
Kevin: Maced? Nope. But, after a few times, pepper spray doesn't bother you anymore. I actually use it in my homemade salsa.
With a half hour left in the day Michael was skulking around the sales area, trying to feel out the best way to drum up interest in his big surprise. However, it was clear that no one had anything more than a passing interest in any new office staffer.
"So Dwight, are you excited to see who the new receptionist will be?"
"Hmmm?" Dwight responded, focused on making Jim's webcam run at optimum efficiency and speed.
"Dammit Dwight, pay attention! Blurhh, you know what, never mind. Jimbo, you looking forward to the new receptionist? Maybe start up a brand new romance, now that Pamburger is in the big city? While that cat's away, the mice eat the cheese, right?" he asked, trying to give Jim a playful slap. His hand, though, connected not with Jim's shoulder as he expected and he awkwardly hit the back of Jim's chair.
"Yeah, no. Actually Michael, I was wondering if I could get out of here early." He smiled. "I was kind of planning on surprising Pam."
Jim: There's this band I'm really into, and Pam has gotten into them too. They're playing the Bowery Ballroom, and I thought it would be nice for us to spend the little bit of Saturday she can spare there. The only other concert she's seen ever was Motley Crue at the Lackawanna County Fair. I don't think I have to tell you who dragged her there. (off camera question) I promise, you've never heard of them, unless you're really into Canadian indie rock. Anyway, I was hoping that we could catch the show after she goes to this gallery thing she has to do. It's going to be one of the only Saturdays we get together for the next three months. I know she'll be really excited about it - she named one of her first art school pieces after one of their songs. It's a photo piece called "The Lines You Amend."
As the branch was packing up for the weekend, Dwight stood up, handed Jim his laptop, and held his hand out. "I have lived up to my end of the bargain, I now demand my Boba Fett action figure," he instructed.
Michael, still annoyed at not having his yes man indulge him in his guessing game about the new receptionist, shot a look at the action figure now changing hands, and scoffed.
"Aren't you a little old to play with dolls…especially nerd dolls?" he taunted, trying to get someone, anyone, to pay attention.
"It's not a doll, it's an action figure." After Jim and Dwight spoke the reprimand in unison, they looked at each other cautiously. In a rare gesture of mutual respect, they shared an affirming nod.
"Dude, is that a vintage Boba Fett action figure?" Andy had materialized, and was clearly impressed.
"Oh not you too," Michael sighed. Slouching and dejected, he shuffled back into his office.
Andy: Look, I'm no nerd, but the Fettster's pretty sweet. C'mon, anyone who has a jet pack, can shoot fire out of his wrist, and takes out Wookies and Jedi is not a dude you want to screw with. Just like a Cornell grad in an imported IPA drinking contest.
Jim packed the laptop into his bag. "Good work, Dwight. I can't tell you how much I appreciate this."
"Your action figure speaks louder than words, Jim," Dwight said, the corners of his mouth tilted upwards in a way that was as much disturbing as disarming.
"Was that a joke? Nice, Dwight! Have a great weekend."
With that, Jim slung his bag across his shoulder and left. Twenty minutes later, the rest of the office was filing out. Michael took the one last chance to try and fan the very small flames of curiosity he had barely lit earlier.
"All right my peeps, get ready to welcome the newest Dunder-Mifflinite bright and early Monday morning. It's gonna be awesome."
He got a few hmmphs in response, and everyone made their way toward the elevator.
Jim was climbing the stairs to Pam's fifth story walkup, a dozen bright pink daisies in his hand. He got to her door, knocked twice and walked right in.
"Hey, I got us tickets to Sloan at the Bowery tomorrow night, and I thought that maybe if you have the time, we could…" He stopped dead.
Instead of seeing Pam, there was a tall, long haired, slightly European looking man standing in the kitchenette.
"You must be Jim," he said in some sort of Slavic accent. "Pam talks about you all the time."
Further author's note: Yeah, so, that's chapter one. At some point, I'll have some music that accompanies this thing linked to my profile.
As stated in my profile, reviews will be much appreciated.