Special notes: First of all, I was not planning to write anything further in my story, "The Wedding," but because people were so sweet and encouraging and wanted to read more, I'm writing another stand alone fic. This should be considered its own separate "episode," if you will, and will, therefore, not be another chapter in TW. TW is a finished fic, so don't expect to see any more chapters added to it, but consider it the first in a series of episodes.
But because this story directly proceeds TW, it's important you read that first, if you haven't already, because I make references back to what has happened in it. Also, same grammar rules I invented in the last story apply in this one, so read the notes on the first chapter of TW if you need a refresher. Other than that, read on! I hope it lives up to any expectations you might have.
Employee of the Month
Pam sat behind her reception desk, staring blatantly at Jim. They hadn't spoken all morning; in fact, they hadn't spoken since Toby's wedding on Saturday. Her brow was lightly furrowed, and she was drumming her fingers on the desk. She leaned forward in her chair, as though she was going to get up, but her phone rang, and after a moment of teetering on the edge of her chair, she sat back and answered it.
"Dunder-Mifflin, this is Pam."
-----
A paper airplane sailed across the office and skidded to a stop on top of Jim's latest invoice. He cupped his hands around it and stared at it with wonder. His eyes narrowed and he gingerly picked it up by one wing. He glanced over at reception and was met with a raised eyebrows; helpless hands, palms up; and a shoulder shrug. Pam nodded discreetly at the airplane, and Jim was obliged to unfurl it.
It was a phone message.
Important Message
For: Michael
From: Corporate
Time: 9:40 AM
Message: Next EoM - Jim Halpert
Jim stared hard at the message. He closed his eyes, took a few deep breaths and let out a long, slow groan.
Dwight looked over from his computer screen, zeroed in on the paper, and snatched it directly out of Jim's hands. His eyes scanned it methodically, then he focused the last two words. "You're the next eom?"—he said it as all one word, 'e-ohm.'
"That stands for Employee of the Month, Dwight."
"Yes, but it's faster to say it my way."
Jim sighed. "Apparently, yes, I am the next Employee of the Month."
"Inconceivable. I had the best sales this month; the sales chart doesn't lie. I've been the eom for the past three months."
"Well, I guess they were looking for a change, not that I care one way or the other."
Dwight's eyes zeroed in on Jim's face. "Not care? Eom is an honor bestowed upon us from our esteemed higher-ups."
"It's a plaque and a parking space."
"And bragging rights for the whole month. Or in my case, three," he added with a grin. Dwight swiveled his monitor in Jim's direction, displaying a Tripod webpage with the banner: "Dwight K. Schrute – Assistant Regional Manager, Dunder-Mifflin Scranton Branch Employee of the Month (EoM) Three Months Running." A portrait of Dwight with a serious face and crossed arms was directly under the title, and beneath it was some text about his achievements at his job. The hits counter in the bottom right corner revealed a mere twelve hits.
"Eleven of those hits are yours, and the other's from your mom, aren't they?"
"No," Dwight said evenly, but turned and immediately closed the page.
"Look, I'll tell them I don't want the title, and maybe they'll give it you," Jim offered, picking up the phone.
Dwight depressed the button in the cradle to end the call. "No, Jim. Obviously corporate is looking for a fresh face to represent this company…" He trailed off with a sad expression on his face.
Jim stared at his neighbor and sighed softly. "It's just a stupid motivation technique, Dwight…"
Dwight raised a hand that called for silence, turned back to his computer and began diligently typing away. Jim shrugged, crumpled the message into a ball, tossed it into the trash and resumed his game of FreeCell.
-----
The door to the office swung open, and Michael came strolling in with a plastic bag in his hand. "Messages?" he asked.
Pam didn't move. "Where have you been?"
Michael glanced at the camera. "I… was running very important errands."
Pam leaned over the counter and stared hard through the white plastic in his hand. Her eyebrows furrowed in concentration. "That looks like a bag of candy and Silly Putty?"
-----
"Being the head of a family can be really stressful, especially if your children have been giving you a hard time recently, like sending you to a bar mitzvah instead of a wedding and consequently a bingo night, two baby showers, a retirement party and a Girl Scout meeting. I can't effectively run the company when I'm so uptight, so, yes, this was a business errand; it affects my performance at the business.
"The candy? Who doesn't like candy? Come on. Chocolate lowers your heart rate; I saw that on 20 Minutes the other night.
"As for the Silly Putty, it relaxes me. I can get all my aggression out by pulling it apart and squeezing it. Plus, if you're good enough, you can capture air in the putty, and make little bubbles. I like the snap they make when I pop them."
-----
"Forget about what's in the bag, Pam. Are there any messages?"
She was still staring at the bag as she answered him. "Just one. Corporate called." Jim was signaling her to stop the conversation, but either she deemed it too late, or she wanted to torture him for unknown reasons. "Jim's the next Employee of the Month."
Michael raised his eyebrows. "Ho-ho, Jim-iny Cricket is the new top dog. Looks like they finally got sick of looking at your ugly mug, Dwight." Dwight looked at his desk sulkily. "I speak from experience when I say this will change your life."
Jim looked perplexedly at Michael. "How exactly will it do that?"
"The chicks will be all over you when they find out how successful you are." Phyllis turned and stared at Michael, Meredith covered the smile that had sneaked onto her face, and Kelly rolled her eyes. "Women love power. I mean just look at Angela."
Angela's head shot up and her eyes darted around the room, finally settling on the back of Dwight's head. She said in a shaky voice, "What? Why me?"
"Well, you love Jesus a whole lot. He's pretty powerful." Her expression turned from worry to irritation, and she went back to work on her expense reports. Michael returned his special attentions to Jim. "Good work, Jim. You know I was Employee of the Month once. Er, twice. Look where I am now." Jim looked concerned.
"Now if you'll excuse me, I have some very important business-related work to do." With that, Michael walked into his office, closed the door and lowered all the blinds.
-----
"Hello? Yes, this is Dwight Schrute, Assistant Regional Manager, Scranton Branch. I had some questions." Dwight held the phone tightly against the side of his face as he waited for the person on the other end of the line to finish responding. Jim had dropped what he was doing to watch the show.
"Yes, hello, this is Dwight Schrute, Assistant Regional Manager, Scranton—yes. Yes. I just need a moment of your—. Of course I understand this is a very busy line, but I need some answers, and—. Is there another number I can call for information then? This is a man's life we're talking about!" He was obviously growing more frustrated with each passing second, and Jim shook his head. That seemed to ground Dwight, and he said politely, "Is there a better time to call back? Yes, okay, thank you."
"Your mom sounds like a busy lady," Jim goaded.
"Oh, ha, ha. Live it up while you can, Mr. Employee of the Month, because by the time this day is over… corporate will be begging me to eat their ham."
"Uh, there's no ham, Dwight."
"Well, there should be. And there will be, after they see how versatile Dwight K. Schrute can be." Jim looked over to reception to see Pam smiling broadly, and he returned the grin, only to notice Phyllis watching them, and he instantly returned to work with a determined, avoidant stare.
-----
The morning progressed rather quietly. Dwight typed furiously at his console, Jim stayed away from Pam's desk despite the stares she was sending his way, Stanley motored through a stack of paperwork, and Oscar and Kevin put their Hateball game on hold to actually focus on accounting.
The exception to this quiet day was Michael Scott. The employees took notice of random bouts of laughter wafting through the cracks under his office door, but no one made a move to enter it and find out why, until they heard, "Ryan! Ryan, I need you!"
Ryan's face exhibited all the usual signs of horror: wide eyes; mouth frozen open; deep, quick breaths. He looked around to his coworkers, but they avoided his glare. He was alone.
Reluctantly, he got up from his seat and walked into Michael's office. "Close the door," Michael instructed. Ryan did.
"What did you want me for?" he asked in a level voice.
"Uh—"
"What are you doing?" Ryan asked, taking a step closer to Michael's desk. Copies of the Scranton Times Tribune were scattered across the blotter, portions of them were mottled and the ink was mysteriously light. He picked a piece up to examine it closer.
"Oh, this? Um, well, I was just catching up on some news—"
"These are from seven months ago."
"I read a lot of newspapers, like the New York Times and Newsweek, so I don't—"
"Newsweek's a magazine."
"Whatever, Ryan. Would you just shut-it, or would you rather I just not answer?" Ryan made a move to escape the office, but Michael blurted, "I was de-stressing, all right?"
The temp turned around and stared at his boss. "De-stressing? What could you be stressed about?"
"Listen, I don't want to burden your young and free mind… like my young and free and brilliant mind is burdened, but I just needed a way to get my aggressions out, so I've been rolling this Silly Putty across people's faces and stretching it into funny new looks. It's a little taste of what a plastic surgeon goes through."
"All right, but what did you need me for?"
"I don't know if you ever played, er—worked with Silly Putty before, but sometimes it gets these little strings…" Michael rolled back from his desk and revealed his pants covered in wispy beige threads of putty. "I need some help picking them all off."
A look of revulsion danced across Ryan's face for but a moment before he turned around and headed straight for the door, closing it securely behind him.
-----
Pam looked up from her pile of growing paperwork to stare at Jim. He was busy with an important game of Solitaire, so he did not see her looking. She watched him for a few moments, but he still did not notice, so she waved him over.
He glanced up at the motion, but either he misunderstood the wave or he ignored her wishes, and he just waved very simply back. Pam put her arm down, and she glanced around to see who had noticed, but no one had. She bit her lip and returned to her paperwork.
-----
All around the office, employees were immersed in their day-to-day activities, all except one. Dwight kept glancing at the clock on his monitor and then at his phone. At 11:30 exactly, his stopwatch alarm went off. He already had the device in his hand, so he silenced it instantly and grabbed the phone.
He cupped his hand over the mouthpiece and whispered, "Hello? Yes, this is Dwight K. Schrute calling, and I just have a few questions. I was told now would be a good time to have them answered. This is regarding the appointment of James Halpert to eom. Yes, Employee of the Month. Yes, I know, but it's faster to say it my way.
"Okay, on what grounds was he elected for the honor? Uh-huh, and who determines that? Mm. What about personal accomplishments outside of work? For example, a 98 percent accuracy with a crossbow. Well, of course it's relevant to the job! It's like an extended metaphor: you target a customer and hit the bulls eye to complete the sale. Well, I beg to differ.
"Oh, I see. What's the bottom line? Well, it sounds to me like you're saying the bottom line is you're looking for a handsome, young, dashing face to represent the company? Well, sir, that's racist." With that, Dwight hung up the phone, sunk into his desk chair and started typing furiously. He staunchly ignored Phyllis' confused stares.
-----
Pam approached Jim and Dwight's desks and stopped at the nearby file cabinet. She opened the top drawer and rifled idly through it, not even glancing at the folders she was shuffling. She opened her mouth to speak when Kevin came up behind Jim and said, "Is Selene still in town to celebrate your award?"
Jim cleared his throat and sneaked a look at Pam out of the corner of his eye. "Um, no. She went home last night."
"You're telling me she didn't stay the night? She is so hot."
"Our relationship's not like that, Kevin," Jim said, tapping a stack of papers evenly.
"But it's like a passionate one-time kiss at a wedding?"
Silence surrounded the desks. Pam closed the filing cabinet and walked back to her seat. She was already buried in work when Jim finally chanced a glimpse at her. "Thanks, Kev."
"What?"
-----
"Yeah, I kissed Selene. It was sort of a spur-of-the-moment type thing. We went back to my place and talked about it, and it's no big deal. We're totally just friends now, and Selene understands that. Besides, the whole orange thing was starting to get old. I sort of prefer the smell of berries."
-----
Pam's phone rang, and she grabbed it quickly. "Dunder-Mifflin, this is Pam."
"Pam, it's Michael."
She looked through the partially open blinds on the side of his office. He was sitting at his desk with his feet up. "Michael, why are you calling me? I can hear you through the walls."
"I need you, Pam."
She sighed, hung up the phone and walked into his office. "What?" she asked irritably. She saw newspapers scattered around the office, some candy wrappers on the floor and on top of his keyboard, and some wisps of what looked like white nose hairs dotting every dark surface. "What's going on in here?"
"None of your Beesley-wax. Nice," he added to himself. Pam crossed her arms and waited for a real answer. "Uh, no, I just wanted to say I'll be leaving early today—"
"Why?"
"You could wait until I'm finished before interrupting, Pam, thanks. I don't imagine callers would like to be questioned before they finish talking." Pam shifted her weight onto her right foot and let out a controlled sigh. Michael shook his head and stared into the camera. "Anyway, I have an important appointment this afternoon that can't be put off." She waited a few moments. "Was there something you wanted to ask me?" he said.
"Are you sure you're finished?" Her tone was biting.
Michael looked at the floor. "Um, yeah."
"You could have just told me that on the phone."
"Yes, well, then I wouldn't have the pleasure of seeing you in person."
Her arms remained crossed. "What's this important meeting about? I haven't heard anything about it."
"It's something I set up myself. Not everything has to go through reception, Adolf."
Pam released a disgusted sigh and walked out of the office.
-----
"The appointment? Don't tell the underlings, but I booked an afternoon at the spa. I really need to just get out of the old mill here. It's starting to wear me down and affect my tack-sharp performance, so it's a business-related appointment, yes. You know, mud baths, saunas, hot stone massage—sounds erotic, I know, but it's really not. It's literally hot rocks on your back." Michael sniggered. "Nope, still sounds erotic."
-----
Oscar leaned in to his two coworkers, Kevin and Angela. "Did you guys hear? Michael's leaving early. Some of the others are talking party."
"Work is not the place for fun, Oscar. Work is the place for monotony," Angela said as she took a break from filling in expense charts.
"I'm in," Kevin instantly replied. Oscar nodded eagerly and jotted Kevin's name down on a growing list of attendees.
-----
Another airplane sailed across the room, this time crashing into the side of Jim's head. It dropped to the floor with a soft thud. He looked directly at Pam, who covered her mouth with her hand straight away to politely hide the smile of guilt from general view. He scolded her with a strict look, but the corners of his lips betrayed him with the beginnings of a grin. He opened the plane to reveal yet another message.
Important Message
For: Jim
From: Pam
Time: 12:30 PM
Message: I.O.U. one lunch. Out front in ten.
Jim smiled, looked at reception and nodded emphatically. He folded the note and put it in his top desk drawer.
-----
Pam was already outside waiting when Jim showed up, hands shoved deep in his pockets. He grinned widely at her as he emerged through the door. "I didn't think you'd remember," he said, eyeing the brown bag sitting on the trunk of her car.
"I didn't," she replied, "until I got here this morning. I hope you don't mind sharing?"
"I'm positively revolted. Ew, cooties."
Pam offered a soft smile as she unpacked the lunch bag. She lined up her turkey and lettuce sandwich, bag of SunChips and yogurt on the car. "We'll split the sandwich, and you get your choice of chips or yogurt."
Jim put a hand over his heart. "A choice? I knew I came to work for a reason today."
"And it wasn't to pick Silly Putty off of Michael's crotch?" Even as she said it, she shivered.
"Please, Pam. How could you offer me food and then that image? Cruel, just cruel."
She laughed. "Sorry. Still your choice."
Jim grabbed the chips. "I know how you love the yogurt. Besides, if you get a hankering for chips later, you can at least get those out of the vending machine."
Her smile was very soft, very faint, but her stare was penetrating. Pam nodded once and said nothing more. They ate their lunch in relative silence until, "Oh, I forgot to congratulate you on your prestigious new title."
"Yes, I'll be changing all my business cards within the end of the day. I'll be sure to leave one on your desk with my home number in case you need to call me for, you know, work-related advice."
"Well, be sure you leave one anyway. Just in case." There was a moment of uncomfortable silence in which they held each other's gazes. Finally, Pam said, "Never know when Michael will call off again, and you'll have to fill in for him as temporary manager."
"Speaking of which," Jim added enthusiastically, "did you want to plan a little something extra for the group while he's out?"
"A receptionist's work is never done."
-----
Jim and Pam reentered the office, laughing and smiling. She had her hand on his arm as they shared a good joke or scheme. Dwight spied them immediately and approached with a purpose. "There are rumors flying about concerning an illegal party while Michael is out. I should hope, as eom, you would think better of joining such shenanigans."
"Join them? I came up with them."
Dwight tsked and narrowed his eyes. "You're besmirching the name of eom."
"Actually, I think you did that when you made it its own stupid word." Pam giggled and returned to her post, as did Jim, leaving Dwight very green in the face.
"Michael will put a stop to this nonsense. Then we'll see who's really eom material." Dwight strode to his boss' door. He laid a hand on the knob when it opened in his face.
Michael gasped and stumbled back into his office, grasping at his chest. "Jeez, Dwight! Are you trying to kill me?"
"Michael, can I have a minute?"
"No…" he said firmly as he grabbed his jacket from the coat rack and headed for the door.
Dwight chased after him, one arm outstretched toward Michael's shirt collar. "But Jim—"
"I'm running late, so I'm putting Jim in charge of the office while I'm out. After all, he is Employee of the Month." He turned and winked conspicuously at Jim, who spun languidly in his chair, twirling a pencil and smirking with satisfaction.
He motioned for Dwight to take his seat. "I run a tight ship here, Schrute. I suggest you take your seat before I have to write you up for… insubordination."
Dwight narrowed his eyes, but Michael pursed his lips and nodded approvingly. "That's the kind of initiative it takes to be Employee of the Month. You should be studying him, Dwight. Uh, when you're not studying me.
"All right, I'm outta he-ear," he said, hurrying out the door.
All eyes focused on Dwight, and he reluctantly took his seat. Jim pushed his phone ever so slightly onto his neighbor's desk. Dwight eyed it angrily, but Jim wagged a finger. "Is that any way to treat your superiors? Now, I expect those invoices filled in and processed by five o'clock on my desk. If you need me, I'll be prepping."
He walked into Michael's office and yelled, "Party in my office, three o'clock. Pam, get going on those signs we talked about."
She gave him a thumbs up and said, "Right away, Mr. Halpert."
-----
Michael pulled into the parking lot of Looking Good All Over, "A Day Spa for Men, Women and Children."
"Well, this is the place." He approached the front counter, manned by a flamboyant young gentleman in his mid-twenties.
"Welcome to Looking Good All Over. Ooh, you certainly are in need of help! And none too soon! Look at those pores. I hope you scheduled a facial," the man said, reaching out to touch Michael's face. Michael swatted his hand away.
"No. Actually, I'm here for a full-body massage"—he winked at the camera—"and a sauna treatment."
The man consulted his records. "Mr. Scott? Are you sure? I can fit you in for the facial no problem."
"I'm sure you could," Michael grumbled. The receptionist looked none too pleased.
"Go ahead and take a seat over there. Monique will be with you in a minute." The man disappeared into the back room, presumably to get Michael's masseuse.
Michael sat down and watched the receptionist head to the back. "People are always remarking how youthful my skin looks. Must be new. I think I noticed a big pimple on his forehead. Poor guy must hate to look in the mirror every morning."
He leaned in toward the cameraman. "Of course the only reason I got the massage was for a lovely lady to have her hands all over my—good god!" A huge black woman emerged from the back room. Dressed in a tight white suit, she beckoned Michael to the back with one finger. He remained petrified.
After a few minutes, he still hadn't moved, and Monique was obliged to take him by the wrist and lead him to the back. "I think there's been a mistake," he offered weakly.
"Honey, the only mistake that's been made is that you haven't come to see me sooner. You're so tense." They disappeared behind a white curtain, Monique kneading his small shoulders under her wide hands.
-----
At three o'clock, members of the Dunder-Mifflin team started filtering into Michael's office, now labeled "Party Central—Everyone's invited except Dwight." They conversed happily as they enjoyed sodas from the vending machine and M&Ms from Kevin's desk, which he had assured them had not been in his mouth at any point—yet. Pam hooked up her Prism DuroSport to Michael's computer and started streaming a mix of party songs through the speakers. Meredith spiked Kelly's soda when she wasn't looking. Even Stanley wandered in for an orange soda. Angela and Dwight were the only two who didn't join the party.
Pam and Jim stood on the outskirt of the festivities, admiring their work. Jim turned to Pam and raised his can of root beer. "Here's to you, Beesley. You're receptionist of the month in my book."
Pam raised her own diet cola and clinked his can. "And here's to you, Jim. Here's to you." She smiled, and he took a long swig from his can, never taking his eyes off of her, even over the rim.
-----
"I feel like a million bucks," Michael said as he oozed out of the back room. He was rolling his shoulders and sighing softly. "Monique is a miracle worker. Hands like an angel. She gives a much better massage than Dwight." Michael seemed to rethink his last comment as he shook his head vigorously and waved his hand at the camera. "It's too bad those slobs are stuck back at the office. They don't know what they're missing."
Complete