"Pam-a-lot!" said Michael. "How was your weekend?"
"Good," said Pam.
"Good, that's good," said Michael. "What'd you do?"
"Painting," said Pam. "Shopping."
"Grocery?"
"Christmas."
"Wow," said Michael. "And I haven't even made my Thanksgiving plans yet."
Pam nodded.
"Well, my hat is off to you," said Michael. "Kudos. When I get my present this year, I will remember how much advance planning you put into it."
Pam shifted uncomfortably in her chair.
"Christmas shopping already," said Michael. "Wow."
"I ran into Jim," Pam said. "He said to say hi."
"Jim?" Michael said, his eyes popping. "Your Jim? My Jim? Our Jim? Or Stamford's Jim now, I guess"—and he made a 'W' with his thumbs and index fingers—"whatever…. Jim Halpert?"
Pam made an indefinite head motion, a combination of nodding and shaking her head "no."
Michael stood copying her for a moment before giving up on any further response.
"Good ol' Jim," he said, smiling. "What did good ol' Jim say?"
"'Hi,'" repeated Pam.
"'Hi,'" said Michael, nodding. "Hm. Not much of a way with words, huh?" He laughed. "Kidding! Of course."
Pam said nothing.
Michael slapped his hand on the raised desk by way of farewell and returned to his office.
"I dropped the ball on that one. Wow. I'm a ball-dropper. There's no other way to say it. Usually I am not. No, sir. I am a ball-holder, generally, not a dropper. Or juggler. I mean, I have lots of balls in the air, sometimes, always in motion. It's not like I'm just sitting around holding my….
"Anyway, the point is—a couple weeks ago I told Jim that I'd talk to Pam for him. That was at the sales convention. Which was not the good time I had expected, but you have to expect that sort of thing, you know? So Jim tells me that Pam shot him down. Twice. Ouch. I promised him I would talk to her about it. And Michael Scott keeps his promises. Well, except for that one time when…but almost…almost always.
"I have not talked to her. Yet. At this point I am still not a promise breaker, I'm simply a promise delayer. I'll get to it. Just gotta think of the perfect thing to say. The one-two punch to bring that girl to her senses and bring Halpert back to the Scranton team. That'll show those sons of…Stamford."
"What was that?" Karen asked.
"What was what?" Jim responded.
"That full-body shiver thing you just did."
"I dunno," he shrugged. "Cold, I guess."
"Or somebody's walking on your grave," she said, wiggling her fingers. "Oooooooo…."
"I'm not dead yet," he said.
"Not until this afternoon, anyway," she said. She pantomimed shooting him with a sniper rifle.
He rolled his eyes in an amused way and turned back to his desk. "We'll see about that."