Title: "Another Prank at Dunder Mifflin" (I'm not in love with this title.)
Fandom: The Office (US)
Rating/Cast: PGish, Jim, Pam, Dwight, Stanley, Darryl, the camera crew
A/N: unbetaed, but proofread. Feel free to let me know if you spot a misspelled word, or you know - if it made you laugh. I don't care about POV this time around, okay? This particular practical joke may or may not have been committed in my actual life.
Jim leaned back in his office chair, pretending to have a conversation as Dwight walked past him to get to his desk. Jim stole a quick glance at Pam, the receptionist, who was biting her lip in anticipation. Dwight set his briefcase down, pulled his desk drawer open and grabbed a pen to begin his morning ritual of logging all malfeasance perpetrated by Jim.
FACT: Sometimes it takes a few moments of making circles to heat up the ink before a pen will work. Dwight kept a notepad for just such purposes. After one minute and thirteen seconds, the pen was still not working. He held the Bic to his eye to check the ink level. He shook it for good measure, then began writing about Jim's car, which was parked far too close to the white dividing line in the company parking lot.
FACT: Section VII: Article 32.845j of the Lakawanna County Motor Traffic Code Law Book states that cars should be parked with no less than a six inch clearance on either side. Not everyone had access to that sort of information. Volunteers to the Sheriff's department did, and Dwight, as a VttSD, kept a copy of said materials in his briefcase at all times. As well as a tape measure. And road flares. And collapsible traffic cones. And MREs. And bandages. And a holster. He did not have the authority to carry a gun. But Jim didn't need to know that.
Dwight would finish recording yet another infraction committed by his co-worker, then pull out his measuring tape and log the actual inches while on his coffee break. He could not get the pen to work. Jim continued with his fake call and slid a notepad over the tiny nail scissors he had forgotten to hide. Dwight picked up the pen once again, twisted his banker's lamp around, and held the pen over it. With a scrutinizing eye he noticed a small blob of plastic at the pen's tip and a tiny seam that ran the length.
Plastic shrink wrap.
Dwight exhaled sharply and turned his gimlet eye on Jim.
"Did you shrink wrap my pen?"
"...I'll get that order right through," Jim hung up the phone and blinked innocently at Dwight. "I'm sorry?"
"Did you shrink wrap my pen?"
"Why would I... Did you try drawing circles? Sometimes you need to heat up the-"
"I know that! I know you have to heat up the ink. I have a notepad for just -. You did it. I know you did it."
"Maybe that's just a new pen. You should try another one."
"It isn't a new pen, because the pens I buy come in boxes," Dwight opened his drawer and took out a different pen, his eyes never leaving Jim's face.
FACT: When people lie, they do not make eye contact. FACT: When people lie, they usually cover up part of their face with their hand, especially their mouths. Jim had his hands crossed behind his head and was rocking gently in his chair, eyes wide and on Dwight's face. Dwight did not register the small coughing sound from the receptionist's desk.
Dwight began making circles on the Circle Notepad with his new pen, eyes on Jim. After approximately fourteen seconds, he looked down and saw that the new pen didn't work. His nostrils flared, which caused his glasses to slip an incremental amount down his nose. He pushed them up and pulled his desk drawer open further. He grabbed the banker's lamp off his desk and shone its weak light onto the contents. Everything appeared to be covered in a thin film of plastic. Even his Stress Ball.
Pam left her desk and stood next to Jim and quietly said, "Darryl says he's done, and thanks for the thing you know about."
Dwight sat up quickly. "Darryl? In Warehouse? What did you do for him? Are you holding drugs for him? I'll have you fired so quickly-"
Jim laughed softly. "Drugs? No, Dwight. No, I am not holding drugs. That is against the law."
"Like you have any respect for the law. You have violated me. You have violated the contents of my desk. Fortunately, I keep spare supplies - purchased on my time, with my own money, I might add - in my car."
Pam bit her lip and turned away quickly. She choked out, "You should go get them. It's already been five minutes into the work day, Dwight. You don't want to fall behind."
"No. No, I do not," he looked pointedly at Jim.
He strode out of the office. Jim and Pam smiled at each other, then walked over to the window that looked down on the parking lot.
"What did you get for Darryl?"
"Oh, my roommate had given me some hockey tickets. I didn't want them to go to waste, and I don't like hockey that much," he smiled at Pam.
Pam grinned and tugged on the buttons to her cardigan.
"Two sodas that it'll take him at least ten seconds to figure it out."
They watched Dwight exit the building and approach his car. He stood next to the door, swiveled his head and looked right at the window the pair was standing at, and pointed at them. Dwight reached for the car door and lost his footing. He turned to his car and tried the door again. He walked around to the passenger side and tried that door, then dropped to his knees and ran his hand along the car's side.
The whole office jerked at the loud bellow from the parking lot. Stanley covered the mouthpiece of his phone, "Did they get that?" He nodded with his chin at the documentary film-making crew.
The cameras bobbed up and down, then cut back to the parking lot. Dwight was now tearing at the plastic that covered his entire car.
An additional cameraman had followed him downstairs and cut to the warehouse entrance, where the staff, laughing, leaned against the metal door. Darryl held a huge roll of shrink-wrap - used to bind boxes of paper together on pallets for shipping - over his shoulder like a rifle. Dwight, blinded with rage and righteous fury, thought that perhaps Darryl did have a rifle, and dropped to a protective crouch behind his TransAm. He thought about it for a moment and realized that he was wrong. Darryl was from the 'hood. It would be an AK-47, and the shape didn't match. Dwight, as a Volunteer to the Sheriff's department of Lakawanna County was an expert in all forms of weaponry. He also played D&D. He stood, pointed at every single dock worker, then up to the window of his office where a crowd had gathered.
"This is an abuse of company property!"
Darryl pulled a roll of cash from his pocket and pulled out a five. "I think I got this covered."
Dwight muttered, "Probably earned from pimping his whores. Disgusting."
When he got back to his desk, his favorite pen had been unwrapped, as well as his three-hole punch. Angela, the uptight accountant who also recorded the infraction on a daily log kept under her "Hanging In There!" blotter, had two pieces of cellophane floating in her otherwise empty trash receptacle.
Jim picked up the phone and hit 0 for the receptionist. "Two sodas coming. Fifteen minutes?"
Pam twirled the cord around her finger, "Sure."