Office. Andy sidles up to Jim's desk and requests a "Fudgy the Whale" ice cream cake for the party today. Wow, I hate to say this but: I'm with Andy. Killjoy Jim, however, shuts Andy down even more swiftly than usual, then tells him he has calls to make. Andy -- and this is a little shocking -- won't let it go, and so Jim storms off all "I can't work like this!" and takes refuge in...Michael's office. I feel like this is the part of the movie where the once-hardcore rocker starts to wear eyeliner and fur coats with no shirt on underneath and all his old bandmates start to look at each other out of the corners of their eyes because they know He's Let It Go To His Head. Jim, right now, is that rocker, and Michael's office is that eyeliner.
Woods. Michael is carrying his own camera around, enthusing about how great it is that he's all alone in the woods and no one will be able to hear what he says. Except for the documentary crew who are no more than twenty yards away from him. And Dwight, but that's a secret. "I wish I could have gone with Ryan on that retreat!" Michael hollers into the void. We all kind of figured that, though. "Jan has plastic boobs!" he screams. Yeah, we knew that too. "IIIIII haaaaave hemorrhoiiiiiiids!" Okay, that one's new.
Elsewhere, Dwight is burrowing deeper into the woods, talking about Michael's quest for knowledge. He finds a bird's nest full of eggs and takes it with him. "Lunch," he explains. Naturally.
Back with Michael, he's duct-taped his pant legs back on because it's gotten chillier (has no one invented the zip-on-leg business slacks yet?). He's planning to kill a squirrel or a rabbit for food because, as he says, it's been three hours. Meanwhile, Dwight's already got his eggs cooking on a fire. This is just a normal weekday for Dwight, I think. Michael, in one of those moments where you realize that he's kind of sweet underneath the layers and layers of dysfunction and jerkiness and failed alpha-masculinity, remembers that it's Creed's birthday today. He starts singing "Happy Birthday." The high-harmony part, of course.
Back at the office, the B-team has gathered in the break room to bitch about Jim's new birthday policy. "I work hard all day," says Kevin, in his customary life-or-death breathlessly intense voice. "I like knowing that here's going to be a break. Most days I just sit and wait for the break." That totally describes every job experience I ever had between the ages of sixteen and twenty-three. Stanley dours that he took an extra shot of insulin in preparation for cake, and if he doesn't have some soon he might die. Okay, that doesn't help the cause, Stanley. You're still getting cake today. Or, okay, cobbler. But that's not the point! Oscar and Creed join in the grousing until Jim happens by, and Creed loudly asserts that they were talking about NOTHING. Then he shouts "Come on, gang!" and hurries back to his desk.