Pigtail Pulling

Parapraxis

JIM

It was my best prank ever. Too bad Pam wasn't there to see it. I, of course, told her all about it in her apartment that night, but I could never recreate the look on Dwight's face when it happened. No, you had to be there for that, see it with your own eyes.

Michael had sent Dwight and me to the Scranton Public Library to find books about Hinduism. He needed information, he said. I told him that Google would be able to tell him anything he needed to know, but his only answer was a mumble; something about Jan "broadening his horizons", and that "reading joke books should count as reading books." As we left, he was finishing up a scribbled list of words that rhymed with "Diwali."

We arrived at the library, and Dwight immediately proceeded over to the librarian, demanding where to find the information we needed. I zigzagged my way through the shelves, pulling out various books that looked interesting. I found myself in the section with the arts-and-craft books. Wondering what the heck a book called Stitch and Bitch could be about, I was about to reach for it when something caught my eye, and that brilliant light bulb went on above my head.

I had figured out the number code to Dwight's briefcase lock ages ago (I had heard the lecture about how the Harry Potter movies took place in the totally wrong decade enough times to know that Harry's first year at Hogwarts was actually 1991. Dwight had even tried to get me to sign a petition to have them correct the wardrobe and hair choices to make the movies more compatible with the time frame in which they were supposed to have occurred). I sat on this knowledge until the right time should present itself, and that time had come.

It wasn't even that tricky to get the briefcase away from him for two minutes; just quoting a (totally made-up) fact about bears mating for life had him shoving the briefcase in my stomach as he stormed off to find that book that would prove me wrong.

Proved wrong, I was, after we collected the books we had chosen for Michael and headed toward the circulation desk where Dwight flashed his library card like a badge. As we headed toward the door, I went back to the stacks to get the bag that I had "forgotten," and ducked behind the reference section, waiting. As Dwight passed through the doors, the alarm sounded. Dwight dropped the books piled in his arms and turned, ready to tackle to the ground the scum who would dare steal from the library, only to find that he was the only person near the doors. Confused, he picked up the books and made his way back to the desks so the librarian could demagnetize the books, "properly," this time. She did, and tested each book to see if they would cause the security panels by the door to go off again. When none of them caused the light to blink, she piled them again in Dwight's arms and he made his way to the door. As Dwight passed the panels, the alarm sounded again. This time his patience was running very thin, and I made my way over to the desk, the most innocent expression I could muster painted across my face.

"What seems to be the problem?" I asked.

"The books keep making the alarm sound."

"It's not the books, sir." The librarian sounded annoyed. "The wand shows that they have been demagnetized."

"Maybe it's your belt buckle," I offered "helpfully."

Dwight reached down and started to undo his belt when the librarian held up her hand to stop him. "No, sir. It's not a metal detector, it is a magnet sensor. Unless there's a magnet in your belt buckle..."

"Maybe there's something in your briefcase," I managed, trying to force down the smile that was trying to bloom on my face.

"There are no magnets in my briefcase," Dwight said, rolling his eyes.

The librarian ran the wand over his briefcase, and the red light blinked. "Sir, could you please open your briefcase?"

Grumbling under his breath, he bent low over his briefcase, attempting to use his body to block the lock from my view as he turned the dial. As he opened the case and laid it out on the circulation desk, his eyes widened and the librarian smirked up at him. Lying among paper samples and sales invoices was a thin hardcover book: Erotic Drawings of the Nude Male. It was all I could do to suppress a laugh as his wide eyes flashed quickly up to my face, then the librarian's before falling back onto the book.