Pigtail Pulling

Neurosis

JIM

I should have suspected something. I should have been on my guard. Pam and Peter (who came dressed as a tree) had been sending each other all sorts of signals since his arrival. Plus, there was no reason for her to be that excited to be sending Peter, Dwight, and me down to the warehouse closet to pick up the extra snacks she had brought the day before and given to the warehouse guy to store. Peter seemed like a really nice guy. He even got along with Dwight. I never would have suspected something like that from him.

I guess I was wrong.

He sent Dwight and me into the closet while he went to grab another cart. We were busy grabbings bags to put into the cart when the door slammed. There was an ominous metal-on-metal scraping noise followed by a small click. I dropped the bag of Little Debbie snack cakes shaped like pumpkins and bats and turned towards the door. It wouldn't budge.

"Alright, Pam, what's this about?" I mumbled to myself, reaching into my pocket to grab my phone. No signal. Figures. I was in the bowels of a giant concrete building, locked in a closet, half-naked, with Dwight.

"Uhh, Dwight?"

"What?"

"I think we're locked in."

"What? No, we're not. Move."

He elbowed me out of the way and pulled the door himself. He tried the handle, then began pushing on the door. Nothing.

"There's no cell reception, either," I said, holding my phone up so he could see. He turned and looked at it, then at me, before he turned his back to me and began banging his fists frantically on the door, calling for help. There had been no one in the warehouse, and with the volume that the "Monster Mash" was playing up in the office, no one up there would hear us. Somehow, I thought that was the point.

I tried to explain this to him, but I couldn't make myself heard over his yells. I resigned myself to the fact that I would have to stay locked in this closet with a yelling Dwight until Pam saw fit to release us when I noticed his yelling had changed. It was more desperate, breathy. He was pounding the door with his fists way too hard. There was sweat condensing on the back of his neck, running in slow droplets down into the collar of his ruffled pirate shirt. I had never seen Dwight like this.

I pulled him around, noticing the crazed look in his eye (the one not covered with an eye patch). He was usually so rock-steady, his demeanor scared me more than anything. I ran my hands up and down his shoulders, trying to soothe him. It seemed to be working, until I reached up to check his temperature, first at his forehead, then the back of his neck. He really lost it then. He pushed me backwards, hard, my back hitting the stack of paper-filled boxes behind me as I stumbled.

"Dwight, you need to calm down."

"Why would they lock us in here?"

"Dwight, please calm dow—"

"We can't get out."

"They know we're here. They'll let us ou—"

"We're running out of air, Jim."

"Dwight, are you claustropho—"

"You are half-naked, and I'm dressed like a pirate, and we're going to die here like this."

"Calm down, Dwight."

"Oh God, oh God, oh God..."

I didn't seem to be getting to him, so I slapped him. Harder than I intended. He looked up at me, startled. I grabbed his face in both hands to keep his eyes on me.