Then he's eating the box of donuts by himself at his desk while Dwight plays "The Longest Time" on the recorder for him. Michael grumps, "Nobody even signed my birthday poster." Birthday poster? That would be the giant photo of Michael on the easel outside his office, showing him with his slicked-back, Season One hair and signed "Happy Birthday Michael [heart] Dwight." He points to the giant, tacky James Dean poster from his mom, the only one who sent him anything. Hence the big flat box a moment ago. "I bet Luke Perry's friends don't treat him like this," Michael gripes. I'm sure that's true, but then Michael probably has more friends than Luke Perry does.
Pam's getting the news about Kevin from Jim, and then THs that if she had a week to live, she'd want to go to Europe, and South America, and the Grand Canyon, and the Pacific Ocean. "It would be a pretty busy week." No kidding. If she weren't terminally ill, that much traveling would kill her.
Dwight's on a sales call when his watch alarm goes off. He hangs up immediately and calls Michael out of his office to announce that it's 11:23, the exact moment of Michael's birth. He's decided to observe the Hebrew tradition of hoisting the birthday boy on a chair. No one wants to help, of course. Dwight calls over to Kevin, who's having his shoulders rubbed by Meredith. Oscar offers to step up in Kevin's place, but Michael, in the same breath with which he's disingenuously protesting, calls Ryan over. Dwight drafts Creed as well. While watching this through the break room window, Pam gets the idea that she and Jim should go get Kevin something. Jim looks mock-doubtfully at the mayhem taking shape in the bullpen and shrugs, "We're going to need someone to create a diversion." And right on cue, Oscar, Dwight, Ryan, and Creed lift up Michael's chair and end up dislodging one of the ceiling tiles with his head.