Andy and Angela have returned to the office, as has Dwight. Andy shows off his tuna sandwich for Jim, and suddenly Angela climbs into his lap and makes out with him in front of everyone. Dwight watches them silently. And Phyllis watches Dwight. Angela gets up and says she has to take care of a "legal issue, " and walks off. Andy, in a TH: "Was that hot or what?" As much as I hate to say it, it actually kind of was.
The troops have crowded into Michael's office, pressuring him to make a decision already. He pushes it back on them, threatening that if they don't make up their minds, he's taking the bonus. And then he gets up and leaves them to it. While dumping sugar into his diet cola in the kitchen, he's in mid-explanation about his "classic management technique" when Oscar and Pam pop in to say they've decided on the chairs. "Rather have the chairs than nothing at all," Oscar says cheerfully. He and an even happier Pam pop back out. Michael: "Motherf--"
In a cheesy fur coat in his office, Michael ticks down the list of today's lessons: he helped his team make a quick decision, you should never buy a fur coat with a credit card unless you can pay for it, and "some people think it's cool to throw buckets of fake blood on you as you are walking out of Burlington Coat Factory." Which would explain why he looks like he's been mauled.
Jim approaches reception to call a truce. "Yeah, I guess, since I won," Pam agrees generously. Jim concedes defeat, then adds, "Anyway, I'm gonna need three copies of this, stapled and collated." She watches in shock as he turns away, then turns back and says he's kidding. She laughs right along with him. Leaning in for a kiss, he sweetly whispers, "I'm gonna need four." So suck it.
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M. Giant is a Minneapolis-based writer with a wife, a son, and a number of cats that seems to have settled at around two. Learn waaaay too much about him at Velcrometer, follow him on Twitter (mgiant), or just e-mail him at m.giant[at]gmail.com.