Rating: K+
Summary: Pam decides to fake sick one day. Set during Season 2.
This is my first story about The Office. Please review!
Disclaimer: I wish the Office was mine... does that count for anything?
When her alarm went off a little after seven, Pam was already deep in thought. She really didn't want to go to work today.
There was no real reason for not wanting to go to work. Nothing particularly bad had happened the day before, but nothing particularly good either. Michael wasn't in an especially good mood-which was generally worse than Michael in a bad mood- and Dwight wasn't any more obnoxious than usual. Pam's tasks as receptionist were not exceptionally tedious yesterday. She just didn't feel like going and dealing with all the people. She just needed a break. Was that so much to ask?
Unfortunately, she was trying to save her vacation days to actually try to take a vacation, and unfortunately, it was her job. She couldn't just not show up. That would be bad. They might fire her. Although, probably not after the first offense. But knowing Michael, he would want to know what she was doing all day, and Dwight would accuse her of not being loyal to Dunder-Mifflin…
And one day off would not be worth the effort the next day would require.
So reluctantly, Pam turned off the alarm and slowly got out of bed.
Pam was pouring her morning cup of coffee when the idea dawned on her. It was a brilliant idea, and she was shocked that it had never occurred to her before. So simple, yet so ingenious.
She could fake sick.
Yes, Pam could! After all, she was qualified: had she not seen Ferris Beuller's Day Off once or twice before? Dunder-Mifflin could get by without her for one day, couldn't they? She could maybe go out for breakfast-there was this new diner she'd been wanting to visit- and then run some errands, get a start on her Christmas shopping, and then work on her painting….
Or, of course, Pam could just get back into her nice, warm bed and fall back to sleep. When she woke up later, she could just turn on the TV and watch whatever was on. Game shows, soap operas, and infomercials, bring it on. And if she got hungry, well, there were a few microwaveable meals in the freezer. Best of all, there would be no Dunder-Mifflin, no Michael, no anybody but Pam.
It could be a stress-free day.
For a fraction of a second, Pam almost discarded the idea. It's not like there was anything so horrible about her work. There was nothing illegal (mostly), and everyone was nice to her (again, mostly). But she would feel a little bit bad about lying. After all, she would be lying to everyone. Lying is bad. Would Pam be able to look them in the eye tomorrow, knowing that she had deliberately lied?
Yes. Yes, she would.
Pam quickly snatched the phone off the counter, and dialed the number of the branch before she could change her mind. When her own pre-recorded greeting and instructions played, she quickly dialed Michael's extension.
"Top 'o the mornin' to you!" Michael exclaimed, in salutation.
Pam was momentarily surprised; it was early for Michael to be at work. Pam took a deep breath, and then spoke. "Michael, it's Pam," she began, in her very best scratchy-throat voice.
"Pam! Where are you? Why aren't you at your desk? Did you car break down? Do you need me to send Ryan to come get you?"
"No, Michael, that's… No. I'm just calling to let you know-" Pam broke off, fake coughing. "Sorry. I just wanted to ask if it was okay if I stayed home sick today."
"You're sick?" Michael asked. "You sure sound sick."
"Yes. I think maybe it's Strep throat or something," Pam offered, coughing again. "My throat feels like sandpaper, and I keep coughing, and I think I might have a fever."
"Yikes. Wouldn't want to spread that around the ol' office," Michael said. "Go ahead and take today off. Take tomorrow too, if you need it. Take however long you need."
"Thanks, Michael. I knew you'd understand," Pam replied gratefully.
"Okay. Bye now."
"Bye Michael." Pam set the phone down. For a moment, she had a serious look on her face as she contemplated her actions. Then she began to grin broadly. She couldn't resist doing a triumphant fist pump. Not only had she lied and gotten out of work, but it felt good.
The day was hers.
"Michael, we have a problem," Dwight announced, striding into Michael's office boldly.
Michael looked up from his computer quickly. "Jeez, Dwight! Doesn't anyone knock anymore?"
Dwight paused. "I can go back and knock, if you'd like," he offered, gesturing back towards the door.
Michael sighed dramatically. "Never mind. Come here." When Dwight had walked around Michael's desk and was standing behind him, Michael continued. "I'm at this costume website, Costumes-R-Us, and I just can't decide what to get. Which of these do you think would be a better Halloween costume?"
"Halloween was two months ago," Dwight pointed out.
"Duh, Dwight! I know that. This is for next year. I have to get a jump on the competition."
"What competition?"
"Forget it. Forget it Dwight. Just get out. Out of my office."
"No! I can help!" Dwight insisted, leaning in over Michael's shoulder. "What are they?"
"Zeus, and Henry the VIII." The Regional Manager explained, pointing to a picture of a toga and a medieval-looking outfit.
Dwight stared at the computer screen for a moment, considering the two pictures. "Neither," he pronounced.
"What do you mean, neither?" Michael demanded. "These are both great costumes!"
Dwight gasped slightly. "You know what you should be?" He asked, excitedly.
"What? What could possibly be better than these?"
"One word." Dwight held up one finger. "Balrog."
"Excuse me?"
"You heard me. Balrog."
"What the heck is a Balrog?" The Regional Manager asked, genuinely confused.
"A Balrog is a dark, fiery demon that lives in Moria! It's the perfect costume!" Dwight explained, eyes dancing.
"Eww, Dwight, no. Never."
"C'mon, it's a great idea!"
"No. No it's not."
"Well, what's so awesome about Henry the VIII, anyway?"
"Dude, Dwight, he had like, seven wives."
"I thought it was six."
"Still. Six wives. He should be an inspiration to us all." Michael paused, considering the costumes. "Eh, I'll get 'em both and decide later. Now, what did you want to talk to me about?"
Dwight straightened, reminded of his initial purpose. "It's about Pam."
"What about her?"
"She's not here," Dwight pointed out.
"Why don't you tell me something I don't know."
"You already know she's not here?"
"Pfft. Of course. She called in sick."
"I find that highly suspicious."
"Really." Michael was not surprised.
"This may come as a shock to you Michael, but I'm not convinced that she's very loyal to this company."
"Dwight-"
"Why don't we call her, and see what she's really up to," Dwight suggested, reaching for the phone.
"Dwight, no-"
Dwight pressed a few buttons, and as the phone began to ring, he pressed the speaker phone function.
Pam was snuggled up with a blanket on her couch when the phone rang. She glanced at the call I.D., and sighed. She grabbed the remote, and muted "The Price Is Right". "Hello?" Pam croaked, resuming her phony sick voice.
"Hey, Pam-o-rama! It's Michael-"
"-And Dwight!"
"And Dwight. Feeling any better?"
Pam rolled her eyes. "Not really. Actually, I was asleep when you called."
"You know, maybe you should go see a doctor." Her boss suggested.
"I think I'll be okay. I think I'll just wait for it to pass," Pam said.
"Not smart. I read about this one guy in Illinois the other day. He thought he just had a cold, and decided not to seek medical attention. Two days later, he was dead."
"Right…"
"Don't listen to him, Pam. I'm sure you're going to be just fine in a couple of days," Michael assured her.
"Yeah, unless you have bird flu."
"Bird flu?" Pam echoed, before coughing.
"Yeah. Then you're pretty much screwed."
Michael ignored Dwight. "What are your symptoms, Pam?"
"My throat, I guess."
"What about it?" Dwight wanted to know.
"It hurts," she replied.
"Anything else?" Michael inquired.
"My head…"
"What about it?" Dwight repeated.
"It hurts. And my nose is stuffy."
"WedMD says it's definitely a cold," Dwight announced.
Suddenly, Pam had an idea. "And there are these weird boils on my arms…" she added, trying not to laugh.
"Oh my God. Michael, I think she has small pox!" Dwight cried.
"Dwight, don't be an-"
"We have to tell everyone! We must be quarantined!"
"Dwight-"
In the background, Pam heard Dwight yell, "Attention, all Dunder-Mifflin employees!"
"Oh, wait," Pam said slowly. "Those are just freckles."
"False alarm! Everyone, please, sit back down," Michael called. To Pam, he said, "I'll check back in a little bit."
"Okay, Michael."
Right before Pam hung up, she heard Dwight say something about contacting the Center for Disease Control and Prevention. She rolled her eyes, and went back to watching television.
Soooo? Please review :)
Coming Soon: Chapter 2
