Summary: It's someone's birthday in the office, but somehow everyone missed the memo.
Today I am This Many!
It was a horrible Monday morning in Scranton, Pennsylvania. Outside, an icy mixture of sleet and snow was falling from the bleak sky. A disgusting gray slush was beginning to collect on the sidewalks and streets, and as businessmen and woman walked from their cars to their respective offices, the cold pierced their throats with each breath.
Inside the Dunder Mifflin office, things were not any better. The weather was casting a dark shadow over everyone; the entire office moved as though in a dense fog. The fact that it was 10:30 in the morning on a Monday just added to the overall feeling of despair that was hanging in the air.
There was one person, however, with a slight spring in his step. Dwight K. Schrute sat at his desk, trying to balance a sharpened pencil on his index finger. After it fell off for the twelfth time he set it down and leaned back in his chair with his arms behind his head, surveying the room. Usually, he did not condone slacking off. Zero productivity only led to problems. Not just for him, but for the entire workplace. And he simply did not tolerate that.
Today was an exception however. Despite the despicable weather, and the frowns on the faces of all his co-workers, today was an excellent day. Today, it was is birthday, and he'd be hard pressed if any stupid snow or depressed office workers were going to ruin that for him.
He looked around. Jim was typing something on his computer, but suddenly stopped and laid his forehead against his desk, sighing loudly. Dwight smiled to himself. He couldn't explain it; he liked when Jim was having a bad day, and it was obvious that today he was. When Jim had walked through the door (at half-past nine, which Dwight had dutifully reported to Michael) he had looked disgraceful. His clothes were wrinkled, and his hair was slightly more disheveled than usual. He had stared straight ahead as he walked to his desk. Upon sitting down, he had picked up a pencil, gripping it horizontally with two hands, promptly snapping it in two. He had looked down in surprise at the two pieces in his hands, as though trying to figure out how they had gotten that way.
"Hey Jim?" Dwight said suddenly.
"Hmmm?" Jim responded. He lifted his head to look at Dwight, a rogue piece of paper sticking to his forehead. He swatted it away.
"So…you know what today is?" Dwight's voice was full of anticipation as he smiled broadly at Jim, who glanced at the calendar.
"Groundhog Day," he said with a sigh. Jim turned back to his computer screen as Dwight frowned.
"No. Well—yes it is, but do you know what else it is?"
"You know what Dwight? I'm pretty busy, so I don't really feel like playing twenty questions, okay?" Dwight crossed his arms angrily and scowled. He turned to his own screen, and tossed an angry glance at Jim before beginning to type rapidly.
"Dwight," Jim said, sounding annoyed. Dwight chose to ignore him. "Dwight!" Jim said again, louder. Dwight scoffed and continued typing angrily, pushing each key as hard as he could, imagining it was Jim's nose. Fed up waiting for a response, Jim said, "What are you doing? Your computer's not even on."
Dwight glanced at Jim before reaching up and turning his screen towards himself, so it was out of Jim's line of sight. He continued typing, stabbing the keys with all the force his fingers could muster. He heard Jim sigh and turn back to his own work.
So what Jim didn't know it was his birthday? Dwight didn't even like him anyways. He thought hard about someone who would remember what a special day today was. He realized who that person was, and he snapped his fingers happily. Michael. Of course Michael would know. He stood up abruptly, nearly leaping out of chair, and headed for Michael's office.
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"Today's Dwight's birthday? Great. Like I wasn't having a bad enough day already." Jim frowned at the camera. The cameraman asked him a question, and his frown deepened. "Does it look like I care?"
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Dwight marched up to Michael's door and did what he liked to think of as his trademark knock. Rap rap raprap rap, RAP RAP. Michael called for him to come in and he threw the door open and strode inside. Michael was sitting in his chair with his legs propped up on his desk, trying to balance a sharpened pencil on his index finger.
"That's pretty hard, isn't it?" Dwight asked. The pencil fell onto the desk.
"Ye—no, no. I was doing it before, you know, but then you came in here and you messed me all up." Michael took his feet off his desk and sat up in his chair. He looked at Dwight, who looked back. They stood there staring at each other for several moments before Michael finally asked,
"Uh…what can I do for you? Do you need something spec—" Dwight cut him off abruptly.
"Say, Michael, do you know what today is?" Michael would know it was his birthday. Besides his cousin Mose, Dwight considered Michael to be his best friend. Best friends always know each other's birthdays.
"Groundhog Day. And looks like the groundhog saw its shadow, so summer's right around the corner!" Dwight glanced outside at the heavy snow that was falling from the sky.
"No. No! Why does everybody keep saying that!" Dwight turned around and stormed out of the office, slamming the door behind him.
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"What do I think is wrong with Dwight?" Michael paused for a moment. "How should I know? Sometimes he can be such a petulatant child."
The cameraman held back a snicker.
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Dwight sat at his desk with his arms crossed. He had gone up to nearly everyone in the office, asking them if they knew what today was. No one had mentioned his birthday. The only replies he had received had been, "Groundhog Day" and "Monday" and "god-awful." It wasn't fair. This morning when he had awoken, he had been filled with anticipation. He had figured that there would be a big party at lunch, with hats and streamers and cake, like at Meredith's party. But how could there be a party if no one even knew it was his birthday? Even Angela hadn't said anything, and it was a woman's duty to remember stuff like that!
This was so typical of everyone here. They were so wrapped up in their own little worlds that they failed to notice HIM. They were all so stupid. Stupid Jim and his stupid sighs and nervous glances at the reception desk. Stupid Michael and his stupid jokes. Stupid Oscar and his stupid phone. And he could go on and on! The fact that these people went through their days without so much as glancing in his direction ticked him off. He hoped he didn't meet any of them outside after work, or he would be forced introduce them to what he like to call the fist of fury. That would show them.
And now, to add to his frustration, the cameraman was calling him into the conference room.
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"Yes I've seen Napoleon Dynamite," he replied irritably, "Didn't get it. That kid was just like me as a teenager, and no one ever made a movie about me. What does this have to do with anything?"
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All day long he waited and waited for someone to come up to his desk and wish him some sort of happy greeting. He tried dropping subtle hints to Jim. "So Jim, what are you doing tonight? Going to any kind of festive party to celebrate something that only comes once a year?" and "I think I'm all out of those cone-like party hats and kazoos. I'll have to stop by the party store on the way home and pick some up, just incase something comes up. I should get some cake while I'm out, too." Jim had ignored him at first, but had finally become so fed up that he fled to the break room.
When the clock reached five, he gathered up all his things and went straight out the door, without saying a word to anyone. He had been yearning to say something to Angela about his mistreatment, but she had left at 4:30. He had considered telling Michael, but at the last moment, thought better of it. There was not use getting her in trouble.
When he was alone in his car, he sighed, and put in his favorite R.E.M. tape. He turned the volume up and slowly drove home through the snow.
When he reached his house, he thought it strange that all the lights were off. Mose must have gone out for a drink. Great. Even his own flesh and blood didn't remember the most sacred day of his year. He trudged through the snow up to the door, and threw it open. The house was dark. He figured he would have some dinner and a beer, and watch whatever was on the Sci-Fi channel. As he entered the kitchen, he was shocked to see flames. He threw on the light, prepared to battle the raging fire.
There stood Angela with a homemade cake that had 'Happy Birthday Dwight!' written haphazardly across it. A small box sat beside the cake, wrapped in dark green paper. His favorite color.
He was too shocked to say anything, so he didn't. She held open her arms, and he ran to her like an overjoyed child.
