Jim Halpert was the king of distractions.
At work, he frequently did literally everything other than work; pranking Dwight, finding new ways to entertain his coworkers, consuming copious amounts of jelly beans as an excuse to talk to Pam…
But tonight, of all the nights of his life to be drawing a blank, he was in fact, drawing a blank in the world of distractions.
At the worst possible moment.
He double and triple checked the message that he had received from his brother-just to be sure he had read it correctly-before he scrolled through every contact in his phone. Mark was taking his girlfriend to the city for the rest of the weekend. His buddies from college all lived out of town; his buddies from high school were all busy. His brother Pete lived too far away on short notice, although a 3 hour car ride didn't seem so bad in Jim's eyes. He hovered over the name Dwight before realizing that he wasn't that pathetic. He was, however, pathetic enough to hit up his parents. They had tickets to the theater. He was on his own.
He was a shaken bottle of soda, ready to burst with nerves on end. Ideas bounced in his mind like ping pong balls. He could go to the bar! And risk drinking myself into vivid memories of Pam? I'd rather call Dwight. He could go to the movies! Going to the movies by yourself isn't that bad. Until, of course, you realize that it's a Saturday night and you'll be surrounded by couples, or the leading female role is played by Pam's doppleganger and then you start to wish the theater floor would open up and swallow you whole.
Video games alone were boring, and he knew he would go stir crazy watching television. Faster than he could drop his dishes in the sink and throw on his coat, he was driving, with no destination in mind.
The town of Scranton wasn't entirely boring. Eventually, he found himself padding aimlessly around the Steamtown Mall. Did he need anything from the mall? Probably not. Did staring intently at the rows and rows of Sixers jerseys and Phillies t-shirts, deciding which one would find a nice home on the bottom of his t-shirt drawer, make him feel better? Absolutely. After deciding that he really needed a Ryan Howard shirsey, he grabbed a soft pretzel and continued wandering around the mall, his shopping bag in tow. Tossing his pretzel wrapper into a trash can, he realized that the mall would only be open until 9, and the panic began to set back in.
Suddenly, there were couples everywhere. A man holding his girlfriend's purse as she browsed the sales racks. Two young lovers sharing a milkshake in the food court. An older couple holding hands as they wandered, basking in each other's company more than actually caring to shop. He had to get out of there.
And just like that, he was driving again. Night came quickly in the winter months, and as early evening turned late, he struggled to find someplace in town that was open without being a bar or a 24-hour convenience store. And then, the neon pulled him in.
He hadn't been to an arcade since he was a freshman in college, but the front door said it was open until 10, and he had pulled in a ton of commission that week. In short, he had extra cash to burn, and he was absolutely ready to spend it on whacking moles, eating ghosts, and rolling balls up a ramp. He purchased the token special (100 tokens for only $20!) and took up shop at a Skee-Ball ramp. About 6 plays in, he realized that a crowd of 10-year-old boys, presumably attending a birthday party, were cheering him on as he sank 100 after 100. He smirked, and then questioned the fact that he was now seeking the approval of juveniles.
Three hours, 300 tokens, two laser tag games (those kids were cute, and he definitely had more fun than he wanted to admit to), and 4 jackpots later, he was one of three patrons left in the arcade that had now begun to close down. He felt bad, being "that guy" as the teenaged employees began their closing duties, and he was still staring at the endless prize options. He did, after all, have over three-thousand tickets. He could be there forever, honestly. And god, did he wish he could be.
Eventually, he chose more candy than seemed necessary, some army men for his nephews, and a bottle of disappearing ink (this would definitely come in handy on Monday).
"On second thought, make that two bottles of disappearing ink." The pimple-faced kid rolled his eyes, took more of Jim's tickets, and slid another small, white bottle across the glass counter. Pam would like one. What was the harm in having a work stash? He folded his tickets into neat rows to stuff into the brown paper lunch bag with the rest of his arcade haul and headed back out into the bitter, Pennsylvania cold.
He was home by 10:12 PM, and thanks to the bag of candy, was still wide awake. Desperation careened down on him like a fighter jet. Before he even realized what he was truly doing, he was dressed in fresh sweats, his gym shoes, and a Sixers knit beanie.
Jim Halpert was not a runner.
But Jim Halpert was desperate to keep Pam Beesly out of his head.
His plan was working out incredibly well: His focus was consumed by 1) Keeping a steady pace, breathing, and watching where he was going, and 2) The fact that his balls were literally frozen.
I am a genius. Why didn't I think of this years ago?
Until his cell phone rang. 11:22 on a Saturday night, and his cell phone was ringing.
He stopped dead in his tracks, heart pounding, realizing that he both wished for and wished against it being Pam. He wanted to hear her voice. He didn't know if he'd be able to handle hearing her voice.
The name Pam lighting up the tiny screen sent his heart straight to his throat. Suddenly, the bitter chill that surrounded him disappeared. His palms ran damp with sweat, and his cheeks were hot. As he began to speak, the air around him turned white.
"Hello?"
"Hey, Jim. I didn't wake you up, did I?"
She sounded calm. Calmer than last weekend, anyway.
"No, never, Beesly. Didn't I mention my nocturnal habits last weekend?"
Her giggle eliminated the frozen feeling in his toes. He gazed up at the stars above him, wondering if she was staring out her window, too.
"You may have mentioned something like that."
Her voice trailed off, and he could hear the echoes of her television in the background.
"Sooo, what's up? Got another midnight plumbing expedition you need me to go on?"
"No, not quite…" He could sense the hesitation in her voice. Before his thoughts could wander in every which direction, begging the question as to why she had called, he heard her voice-now more confident-return. "Jim, where are you? It sounds like you're outside."
He hadn't even realized that the wind around him had picked up. She must've been getting feedback on her end.
"Uhh, I am outside, actually."
"Oh. Leaving the bar or something?"
"Well, not quite." Was it just him, or did she seem to pull back with her question? Her voice had softened, hadn't it? No, he was totallyoverthinking. "I'm kind of on a run right now. Or, well, wrapping up a run. Gettin' kinda cold out, now that I'm standing in the middle of the sidewalk not moving."
With that realization, he began walking back to his house. Luckily, he had only been circling the neighborhood, after the thought process of I wonder what kind of people are on the streets at this hour talked him out of going on any trails.
"Jim Halpert runs?!" He laughed at the genuine shock in her voice. Don't worry, Beesly, I'm just as shocked as you are.
"Correction Beesly: Jim Halpert pretends to run. Jim Halpert made a New Year's resolution to stay in shape and then picked literally the worst time to start making good on that promise."
Her giggles trailed off as he approached his block, fumbling for the keys with frozen fingers.
"So Beesly, to what do I owe the pleasure? I thought you had some big weekend of fun planned. Wasn't tonight dinner and shopping with your mom?"
"It was, yeah, but she went home hours ago. I've got the house to myself until sometime tomorrow night."
She didn't mention why, but he could hear it in the way that her tone had shifted. Roy was out with the boys. Had already planned to spend the night wherever he was at. Was she too embarrassed to tell him? Ashamed? Whatever the reasoning, his brain was already in Pam-mode, and wasn't giving it a passing glance.
"Well hey, having the house to yourself isn't so bad," he chirped, sliding off his shoes and throwing his beanie to the floor. "You can pick any channel you want, pig out on all the junk food in the house, and dance around in your underwear. Think of the freedom!"
"I see where your argument could be valid, but right now, it's not. Because I'm bored."
He could hear her pout through the radio waves. He wondered momentarily if the pout was because she was bored, or because she had to get her fiance out of the house to have some freedom. Before he could decide, her whisper was at his ear again.
"Do you want to come over and hang out?"
He knew what his answer should be. He should have said no. He should have continued taking off his running attire and changed into pajamas. He should have encouraged her to try getting some sleep. It was late. Her body would thank her in the morning.
But all of this was entirely contrary to what his body was in fact doing, which was pulling on a new t-shirt, furiously rubbing deodorant-everywhere, slipping back into his shoes, pocketing a bottle of disappearing ink, and driving across town.
