Corporate, 9:01 am

Michael Scott whistled cheerfully as he breezed through Dunder Mifflin's corporate halls. He'd worn his lucky shirt and tie, along with those husky-sized boys' pants that hugged his rear in all the right places. He'd even found a penny, heads up, in the parking garage when he arrived at 8:00 AM sharp that day. Carefully setting his oversized gift basket down, he'd stooped to pocket the coin before heading upstairs to Alan's office.

Alan wasn't at his desk, which was sort of perfect in its own way. It allowed Michael to choose the best placement for the gift basket without any pressure. First he tried the doorway, but was afraid Alan might step right in the middle of it, tearing the cellophane and possibly breaking his neck from tripping. That would be no good, he decided. No good at all.

Then he considered Alan's chair, but what if Alan sat down on the basket, tore the cellophane, and smeared chocolate-covered peanuts all over his nice corporate trousers? That would certainly not incline him to hire Michael as his CEO replacement.

For that was the purpose of Michael's visit, along with the magnanimous gift basket he left on Alan's heating vent (to circulate the chocolate aroma). Included was a poem:

Dear Alan,

Roses are red, violets are blue,
Heard you were retiring soon.
I really, really, really, really, really, really want your job.
I promise to be super professional. Even more professional than David Wallace.
The end.
Hugs and kisses,

Michael Scott

With his mission accomplished, all that remained was to await Alan's call in the coming days, and of course visit Ryan on his way out. That interaction was slightly less than satisfying, but it didn't dampen his mood. Lastly, he treated himself to a self-guided tour of corporate, peeking into meetings and restrooms and slipping a few heavy envelopes through the mail room's postage meter.

As Michael exited the lobby, there was a sizeable crowed waiting for the elevator. Scowling, he eyed the door to the stairwell and soon headed over.

He was halfway down the second flight of steps when he stumbled upon her.

At first it wasn't clear exactly what was happening. There was exposed flesh, not indecent-exposure levels, but a good portion of her midriff was visible. There was the faintly sweet smell of lotion in the air. Then there was a terrified gasp, a tube of lotion dropped on the floor, and a blur of frantic movement and incoherent mix of Excuse me – I'm so sorry – oh no, you're fine – I didn't think anyone would be here – sorry again – that's ok, I didn't see anything…

They shuffled past each other, Michael descending and Robin nearly tripping over herself as she raced upstairs.

"He saw you doing what?" David cried in sheer disbelief.

"It was only going to take me a minute – I thought I'd have privacy there!" Robin defended.

"But lotion… on your stomach? Really?"

"The dry air is making my skin so dry and itchy lately."

David shook his head over and over, unblinking. "Robin, this is bad. Of all the people who could have walked in on you, it had to be Michael Scott."

"I've heard you mention him before, but I never fully understood your issue with him," she admitted.

"He's a loose cannon! He's completely unpredictable, usually inappropriate, and staggeringly ignorant on so many levels. Half the time, I find myself wishing we could rename his branch Blunder Mifflin Scranton."

"Why hasn't he been fired?"

"Believe me, he's come close plenty of times. For some reason, the universe has decided to give him 99 lives."

Robin raised an eyebrow. "So what do we do with him now?"

David quickly grabbed the receiver and dialed. "Come on, answer," he nervously tapped the desk. "I know he hasn't left yet. He's sitting in his car, writing in his diary about seeing Ryan today." Sure enough, a few seconds later Michael answered.

"Michael! Hello! It's David Wallace," he almost shouted. "Listen, I know you were just up here, but I need to see you in my office. Now."

"Uh-oh, am I in trouble with the principal?" joked Michael.

"Just, please. We have something urgent to discuss."

"Is this about my idea to sell rotisserie drumsticks in our vending machines?" Michael asked hopefully.

David exchanged glances with Robin. "Yes. Yes, I pitched it to Alan and he's definitely interested."

"Woo-hoo! I'll be right up."

"Okay, bunch up your sweater in the front and go wait in Conference Room E until I come for you," David instructed Robin. "We don't need you two stumbling into each other again today."