Love Me [Jim Halpert]

Seventeen

CONFLICT RESOLUTION

It was a run-of-the-mill Monday morning at the office. Pam sat at her desk, fully engrossed in composing an email. However, Kevin's incessant tapping nearby proved to be a distraction, "So, uh, have you found a band yet for your wedding?" Kevin piped up.

Pam looked up from her computer, "No, not yet."

"'Cause I'm in a band. We really rock." Kevin added.

~

Perched in front of the camera, Pam smiled happily, "Well, it's official. Roy and I have chosen a date for our wedding: June tenth!" She beamed proudly, displaying the save-the-date invitation. "I'm really excited; I've always dreamed of a summer wedding."

~

"So I got the Save The Date," Phyllis told Pam as the pair wandered into the kitchen.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, pretty stationery."

"Oh, thank--"

"I didn't get mine yet," Angela interjected from the kitchen table.

Pam paused, her gaze shifting slightly. The camera briefly captured Kelly and then Isabelle who were both fixed on Pam, awaiting her reply, "Um..." She mumbled.

~

"There are a few people I decided not to invite, and that might make things kind of awkward, but..." Pam lifted her shoulders. "It's my wedding. And I don't want anyone there who has called me a hussy."

~

"Yes, thanks. Fantastic Sam's. Adult cut plus." Michael patted his new hair-do down with a giddy smile. "Comes with a shampoo and blow-dry. We're doing I.D. photos today. Gotta represent." He explained to the camera crew.

~

Phyllis stood smiling at the camera, "Uh, on or off?" She signaled to her glasses.

"Off."

"Alright." Phyllis removed her glasses, revealing an exaggerated makeup look.

"Oh!" Dwight grimaced. "What is on your face? Is that a disguise?" He narrowed his eyes, taking a better look at the look.

Phyllis's expression fell, "Excuse me," She mumbled, deflating as she slouched out of the room.

"Clown paint."

~

"I.D. badges are long overdue. Security in this office park is a joke. Last year I came to work with my spud gun in a duffel bag. I sat at my desk all day with a rifle that shoots potatoes at sixty pounds per square inch." Dwight shook his head, surprised. "Can you imagine if I was deranged?" He added.