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THE SUGGESTION BOX WAS PROBABLY ONE OF MICHAEL'S WORST IDEAS. Jim sat between Pam and Evelyn, his eyes locked on the wooden box held in Dwight's arms. It had been forever since they had seen that thing, and it showed. It looked like it belonged in an old Victorian home as a mailbox.
"Why are we here?" Michael asked, capturing everyone's attention. "Because I value your opinions." Jim glanced toward Evelyn with a small smile hidden behind his hand. She rolled her eyes with a matching grin. "Now, I know a lot of you don't think that I read your suggestions, but I do. I just sift through them every week.And I really look and scrutinize to see what you guys are writing."
Jan sitting on his opposite side was even worse. Evelyn couldn't focus without her mind going directly to Jan and Michael making out. "Um, so let's just, uh, read some of these suckers, okay?" Dwight pulled open the lid for Michael to reach in and clapped it shut once Michael had pulled his hand back. "Number one," Michael read, clearing his throat, "what should we do to prepare for Y2K?"
"What should we do to prepare for Y2K?" Dwight repeated louder. Evelyn sunk a bit in her seat, fingers pressing to her lips. "I thought you read these every week?" Kelly asked, calling Michael out for his lie. His narrowed gaze flew over Kelly. "Well, obviously, this one got stuck in the box," he replied, quickly. "That happens occasionally."
His eyes shifted over to Jan, hoping she had bought his excuse. When she looked back at him with that same, blank stare, he turned back to the suggestion box. "It happens occasionally," Dwight agreed, stern eyes falling on the blonde on the other side of his box. The paper fluttered to the table, Michael turning back to his right hand man. "And, um, so one down. Next suggestion."
Something began to tickle against Evelyn's knee. She glanced down to see Jim's pants leg hitting her. His legs were spread out, one hand resting on his own knee. With a hint of a smile, Evelyn swiveled her chair toward him, her knee tapping his leg.
"We need better outreach for employees fighting depression," Michael read aloud. His eyes rolled slightly as he set the paper down onto the table. "Okay. Alright. Enough with the jokes." A furrow pinched between Jan's brows. "Nobody in here is suffering from depression."
"That sounds serious, Michael," Jan warned him. Fingertips brushed her knee, pinching the soft fabric of her slacks between his fingers. Jim's eyes fell to her lap where her hands sat. "Oh. Okay. Well, yeah. Who wrote it?" Michael asked Dwight, who had snatched the paper from before them. "Tom," he answered.
