Essay 4. Communication Skills (Non-Verbal Language): Display your ability to think "outside the box" by describing in detail the body language and extra-textual meaning behind common workplace interactions. Bonus points for including uncommon -- but nevertheless inevitable, not to say inexorable -- situations.
"Hey," Pam grins at Jim, who's probably relieved to see a friendly face after the whole Jan thing; who's probably happy to have Pam here, again, without Roy there. It's like, second drink. "Hey, how's it going?" Pam cocks her neck cutely and says it's been especially awesome since she took all his money in poker. "Ha-ha, yeah," he says. "Can I talk to you about something?" She does a cute little dance for him: "...About when you wanna give me more of your money?" No. "Did you wanna do that now?" No. "We can go inside. I'm feeling kinda good tonight." He looks away. "I was just, um..." She waits for the return serve, for the joke that always comes logically next in this sequence. She waits, and he meets her eyes: "I'm in love with you."
The urban legend was that somehow Jenna Fischer didn't get these pages; that her shock and surprise were real. That is, as far as I know, a falsehood. But I believed it that night.
"I'm really sorry if that's weird for you to hear. But you needed to...hear it." Her heart, her breath. "...Probably not good timing. I know that, I just --" And she's reacting with horror, out of fear, and you can't blame her, because if it's always what they don't say, and then you say it, then all of a sudden the inside part comes outside, then you're asking questions too big and putting way too much light on the thing. You're not holding up your end of the deal. "What are you doing?" You know exactly what the hell I'm doing, says Jim's posture, the tilt of his head. "What do you expect me to say to that?" He needed her to know, once. "Well. I, um...I -- I can't?" And he nods.
"You have no idea..." she begins, and he begs her: "Don't do that." "...What your friendship means to me." He shakes his head, asking her to stop. "Come on. I don't wanna do that. I wanna be more than that." But she can't. The tears in his eyes are the brightest things onscreen.
"I'm really sorry if you misinterpreted things," she continues, in this hushed tone. Like it's a secret that would tear down all the night if she said it too loud. She's not wrong. "It's probably my fault." A tear rolls down his cheek. He wipes it away. "Not your fault. I'm sorry if I misinterpreted that...our friendship." This last tossed off in desperation -- still so quiet, both of them -- as he walks around her, trembling, back toward the building. She touches her ring, looks down at it. Cameras forgotten.