Here goes my second go at an office fic. I was going to try writing something not as depressing as my last one, but I've really been too depressed and unhappy myself to write anything lighthearted. So, there'll be more rough chuckles for Jim in this fic, but I promise, no one's going to die. Really. I'm trying here, folks. )
"To Sleep, Perchance, to Dream"
An Office Fanfiction by SL
Standard disclaimer: Don't own these characters. Just playing with them like so many dolls.
Introduction: The Telling Tape
Tape 1 – Dunder-Mifflin documentary
Staff interviews. Confidential
"Nice to finally meet you! I'm so excited to be in a real movie! You know, I'm just thiiis close to being a professional at improv," the black suited executive type with the face of a eight-year old exclaims with a smile. He looks up, confused at what the interviewer is asking him, eyebrows furrowed together. "Ok, whatever, movie, documentary, it's HOLLYWOOD!"
"Confidential questions?" she looks up from the sheet of questions she's been asked to consider answering. "My life is an open book: I have nothing to hide." She tosses her yellow hair back in a huff. "Now, the rest of these… ugh… people I work with here, I'm sure you'll get some sordid tales that'll be very telling of their shallow ways. Except maybe Dwight," she pauses, thoughtful, "He has always been exceptionally upstanding. Beyond reproach."
"Fact: Schrute men all must spend their thirteenth birthday shaving their own head only to paint it with a mixture of bear feces and beet juice. It instills vitrility and an appreciation for antihelminths." He looks back at the interviewer, his eyes intense behind his thick glasses. "Yes, that is my answer to 'What was your favorite birthday'. Why do people always ask me that after this story?"
"Where did I grow up? Sheesh… I gotta think about that one," the older man with a glassy look to his face asks himself, scratching at his chin, looking far off into the distance. "I mean, gypsy caravans never stay in one place long. I suppose the longest we stayed anywhere may have been this field outside of Bakersfield… but that might've been on that one self-journey I took in '65… man I've done so much acid I don't really know what actually happened anymore!" he laughs and throws his hands up flippantly. "Does it even really matter?"
"Ten years… where do I see myself in ten years?" she asks herself, looking down at the floor, twisting some of her brown curls with her fingers. "Does it have to be what I really think or what I imagine it as? Both? Ok," she nods, smiling wistfully. "Imaginary: married for years to the love of my life, in a fashionable old house with a garden and two, no- three kids! And I'll teach art classes down at the community college, but most of my time I'll devote to my loving husband and kids. Realistic: hopefully married to Roy, my fiancée, and probably still working here. It's got flexible hours. Oh yeah, we'll probably have a kid by then maybe. Roy only wants one – he doesn't think I could handle more than that. He's probably right," her smile has faded to a rehearsed look if contentment, though the disappointment in her eyes shines through.
"I spent most of my time in High School in the 'Skipping Class and Getting Drunk' club. That's where I met my husband. Sorry jerk. He took the last bottle of Grey Goose when he drove off to Mexico with that little hussy," the redhead mutters to herself, "Yeah, now our little brat's headed to the same school. I wonder if my stash of Christian Brothers is still behind the wall in the girl's bathroom…"
"I mean, I really just want to meet a really sweet but also cute, but also a little dangerous, you know so I know that if some bitch comes up to me and is like 'oh no you're not' and I'll be all like, 'oh yes I am' and he'll totally back me up and be like 'hey back off'. I've already looked around the entire office, and really, beyond like like Jim, who's totally not my type, too emo and weird looking, everyone here is like so old, so I go to bars on the weekends, but my mom's always telling me, 'why don't you meet some nice Indian boy who's a lawyer or a doctor or something', but then I'm like, 'really, maybe if he's cute, but, eew, not the old men you're thinking about.' What was the question again?"
"If I could do anyone else's job, it would totally be Spiderman." The overweight, balding accountant says with a juvenile grin. "I mean… what's more awesome than Spiderman?"
"You can't be serious," he says, looking down at the paper, then back up at the camera in the most worn out but disgusted manner. "I did not come to work today to play twenty questions with a camera crew. My time is my money, and my money doesn't have time for this. I'm going back to work so I can go home right when that clock hits five."
"I enjoy art shows, fine wines, um… ah, Nieman-Marcus, especially around the holiday sales. I try to get out to the new Broadway shows when I can," he pauses, a grin washing across his tanned face, "Aw, who am I kidding? I'm a sucker for musical theater, I'm out there almost every weekend. We… I saw 'Phantom' at least four times."
"Well, to be honest, I haven't had such good luck with men until just a few months ago," the middle-aged, overweight, but sweet-faced woman begins, "I began to talk with Bob Vance, from Vance Refrigeration, on our way up the elevator. We've been on a couple of dates… and oh, I don't want to make any early assumptions… oh, but I think I'm in love!"
"Hmm… One thing about myself that no one else here knows about?" he purses his lips up towards his nose for a moment, thinking. "You know, if I'm not telling them, what makes you think I'll tell you? Oh, confidential? That's the paper I read before I came in today. In that case, I'll find you something." His brown eyes look around the room as he rummages through his memories for something particularly interesting. He stops suddenly and looks at the camera again, somewhat seriously but still appearing good-humored. "I got it. When I was sixteen I tried to kill myself." He looks intently at the interviewer, "No, not at all. I had a bad problem with depression when I was a teenager – you know, a lot of kids go through it, I had some trouble fitting in, I was awkward and funny looking. So, one day I just felt so bad that I didn't know what to do anymore and I rigged up a noose off the old tree behind my dad's toolshed. I was pretty darn close to pulling it off, but my dad came back to get something out of the shed right when I had put my head through, and that pretty much ended that little 'cry for help' as the psychologist called it." He looks again at the interviewer and shakes his head with a careless smile, "Nah, I'm all past that. I grew out of it. Little antidepressant here and there back in college. I'm really pretty happy now," he leans onto his hand somewhat uncomfortably, his smile still on his face, but something raw simmering beneath it.