TG/N: The idea of the Dunder Mifflin crew heading to a Paper Seller's convention was ignited by a story I read on The Office's fanfiction area. The authors of the particular story gave credit to a Convention in Chicago. I must forewarn, however, that I have never been to Chicago, so if you would all give me a little slack when it comes to the descriptions, etc., it would be greatly appreciated :) This will, hopefully, be a multi-chaptered story

Also, "Casino Night" never happened. This takes place during the summer after "Drug Testing" (and "Casino Night" but it never happened).

Jim turned to look at the cameraman, shielding his eyes from the early, orange evening sun. The look on his face registered as surprised even though the documentary crew had called ahead of time, asking if they could send someone over to film a short segment.

If he had been interrupted from some type of work, it couldn't have been very productive. Judging by the scene before the camera, however, it appeared that work was and had been the furthest thing from Halpert's mind. Clad in a tattered maroon tee and a pair of equally abused jean shorts, he was slumped in a ratty lawn chair with an electric guitar to his side and a perspiring beer bottle dangling lazily from his right hand. The only evidence of movement and work was the water flowing from underneath the red Corolla at the far end of the driveway, and the green garden hose that remained strewn across its width.

The cameraman frowned as he reluctantly turned his camera on while his buddy held the boom. This trip was certainly going to be a waste . . .

"Well, uh," Jim hesitated, tousling his already scruffy hair, ". . . I've dabbled with the guitar for a couple years and finally decided to splurge on an electronic set. I, uh, actually wrote a song in my free time." He gestured towards the guitar excitedly. "Would you—I mean, d'ya—do you wanna hear it?"

The cameraman nodded and squinted through the view piece as he focused on Jim grinning ear to ear, desperately trying to suppress it. As he hooked the guitar strap over his shoulders, he forewarned, "Look, I wrote this song in, like, two hours, and I may or may not have been completely hammered, so . . . here goes."

The song began by one note being plucked over in a monotonous hum. After waiting a couple moments for the song to progress to some sort of climax, the cameraman, Jeff, was still grasping at straws. Finally, Jim began to sing.

"My nights were dark and gloomy/my days gave me a fright/But then you came back to me/and my life was much more bri-i-i-i-i-i-i-ight—" On bright, his voice hit such a high falsetto it was almost embarrassing. He stopped playing abruptly, unplugged the guitar from the amp, and resituated himself in the lawn chair. "That's all I have so far, but, uh—" He suppressed a grin. "—it's a work in progress, plus, I plan on finishing it during my vacation. I probably won't be playing it in public anytime soon, though."

"How was Australia? Are you still on vacation now?"

"Oh, Australia was great," Jim said. He didn't initiate any more discussion on the topic, and he wiped the slight perspiration off his forehead. "I got back here in July and decided to blow the rest of my vacation time because, strangely enough, I just couldn't bring myself to work right away."

"Because of Pam's wedding to Roy, right?"

"What?—no." He scoffed. "No." The final 'no' was forced out like it was a confirmation of his denial, but Jeff, the cameraman, didn't press it. Instead, Jim made up for his weird reaction by rambling senselessly. "What I meant was Michael . . . and Dwight. Australia was just such a nice change of pace that it caused me to reach this sort of equilibrium, you know? And it was such a good feeling that I couldn't let it be destroyed by Dunder Mifflin. But, uh . . . so they tied the knot, huh?"

The cameraman nodded. Jim swallowed. Hard. He took a swig from his beer. "Well, good for them! Good for . . . them . . ."

Jim repositioned his legs and wondered silently why the documentary crew was bothering him now. He had a good eight days left of vacation to do exactly what he had done with the last six: lie around, practice the guitar some more, and delve deeply (without receiving hassle; Mark and his girlfriend were up at his parents' summer place) in two of his guiltiest pleasures: So You Think You Can Dance? and his recently purchased Strangers with Candy: The Complete Series box set. Nowhere in that equation did the documentary film crew fit in. They hadn't sent someone to film any part of his trip which was nice because he had begun to associate the film crew with Dunder Mifflin. This, tied in with the fact that he hadn't seen the crew in a good month or so, had him fearing the inevitable.

"We wanted to ask: what's with the, uh . . . ?"

"Huh?" The cameraman, Jeff, pointed at Jim's chin. "Oh, this?" He stroked the beard that now resided there and smiled in acknowledgement. "Well, I sort of fell into one of those streaks where you just don't care on my trip, but after, like, the third day, then I just got lazy. I'm talking shower-protest type lazy." The camera guys chuckled at his use of facial expressions. "Seriously, though? This thing took about two weeks to grow. I was going to shave because the beard has reached the point where it has taken over my whole face and is borderline homeless man/serial killer, but I've become attached to the look. It's like my twenty years too late, a thousand hairs too much Magnum P. I. look."

Jim laughed and drank the last few drops of his beer. "You don't even have to say it. I already know I'm a loser."

-DM-

"What exactly have you been doing with your summers?"

"Traveling, mostly," Dwight replied, fully protected from the bright, blaring sun that hung in the sky with a pair of sunglasses and SPF 60. He donned a pair of red swim trunks and a pair of black sandals. His arms were draped haphazardly over the banister on the deck slightly above the one the camera guy was filming from. A woman stood to his left, arms crossed, wearing a floppy, white sunhat, a pair of large sunglasses, and a matching white cover-up that was sheer enough to allow a view of her one piece suit which was very blue. It was, obviously, Angela.

"At the beginning of the summer, we took a month's trip over to Germany which, of course, was phenomenal," he continued, the ocean breeze making him a little hard to understand. "I wanted to go to Auschwitz because I had never been, and, unfortunately, I was a little disappointed. Apparently, they didn't make much of an effort to put us into a very positive light." He paused. "Come to think of it, it was actually . . . a little depressing."

"Anyway," he went on, ignoring his prior offensive remarks, "we visited this quaint little village afterwards that was used to stow away soldiers during the Second World War. Not only did their bakery have the greatest apple strudel in the universe, but one of its occupants was the most fascinating man I had ever met. He was born with only one lip, and sometimes his eyes would lose focus and begin moving rapidly helter-skelter in their sockets, but that is beside the point—anyway, he had the most amazing story—"

"By 'we' he means the two of us traveling on a strictly platonic, very professional, education trip," Angela interrupted, her strict glare covered by her sunglasses.

"Of course," Dwight agreed, giving a meaningful glance back to his woman. He smirked slyly and informed, "After our trip to Germany, we stayed for a week in Gettysburg. Even a week cannot do justice to one of the greatest wars ever fought on American soil. I mean, to me, Lincoln is such an iconic figure. Michael even said that in his spare time at the White House, he would do stand up comedy routines, but that seems highly implausible.

"An unnamed source suggested we take a more romantic trip, so that's where this cruise comes into play," he continued, "The final destination is Egypt, and she is excited—" he jabbed a thumb in Angela's direction, "—because they worshipped cats or whatever."

She smiled, and Charlie, the other cameraman, nearly dropped his filming device in shock.

"So who is taking care of your cats, Angela?"

"Oh, no one," she informed, leaning against the banister for support. "My cats need to be taken care of in a specific way, and I don't trust anyone enough to give them full control. Besides, I am the only person they trust, and I am very intuitive when it comes to feline care."

"How are your cats surviving then?"

"I left out numerous bowls filled with food, and I bought three new litter boxes. I have pictures of my cats if you would like to see them," she said, grinning slightly, obviously enjoying the turn the conversation had taken.

Having no other choice, the cameraman nodded, and they all endured a good twelve minutes of incessant cat chatter. After she finished, Charlie, the cameraman, desperate for a new topic asked:

"Is there anything else that was done this summer?"

Dwight shifted his weight from his left to right foot, wiping an imaginary piece of lint off his shoulder. "Two weeks ago, the bi-annual Schrute family reunion commenced at Mose's and my beet farm. Both my father and grandfather, Dwight Schrute Jr. and Sr., as well as my great-grandfather, Dwide Schrude, were in attendance. There were beets all around, and it was just a wonderful time. My estranged brother, Wallace, even showed up which was surprising. He's always considered the weird one in the family."

-DM-

"How has your summer gone?"

"Um . . ." Pam shifted uncomfortably in the cheap, plastic cushioned chair she was seated in, ". . . it was fine."

Jeff, the cameraman, could not help sighing out loud. Out of all the Dunder Mifflin employees, Pam was the least entertaining when it came to camera time and interviews. The documentary was supposed to be real, but in comparison to her over-the-top co-workers, she was almost too real.

Even though reality was the theme the crew was going for, there were no rules against it sometimes being entertaining. The only reason Pam continued getting air time, beside the fact that Charlie, the other cameraman, was fascinated with her honesty and persona, was because she had received such positive feedback from the clip they had shown at Sundance. Other than that, Jeff thought as he steadied his camera, there's nothing forcing me to keep prodding her for answers.

"Have you gone on vacation anywhere?"

Pam didn't answer for awhile. She just sat in her kitchen chair, staring at the floor, dressed in a pair of nondescript jean shorts, her Keds, and an even more nondescript sleeveless blouse. She fanned herself energetically with her free hand, while the other one supported the small baby who sat stoically on her knee. Her hair was much frizzier than normal, and due to the heat—the air conditioning broke down—it began sticking to her neck and forehead. The only source of ventilation came from the open sliding door, but there was, unfortunately, no breeze.

"Um, we didn't really go on vacation this summer," Pam finally answered. "Roy and I decided we needed to save more money, so we've been faithfully going to Dunder Mifflin every business day. It's actually not so bad working there in the summer. Practically no one is there—even Dwight—and usually it's just Stanley, Toby, and I. I mean, even Michael is gone on his yearly one week vacation. Our substitute boss is Jan, of course, but this is the one week of the year we all start praying for back in December. Toby gets a head start in September."

"We've been meaning to say 'congratulations'. How did the wedding go?"

"Oh, well, thank you." Pam gave the faintest trace of a smile. She swallowed. Hard. "But, um . . . actually, the wedding was cancelled again. The building the reception was supposed to take place in was destroyed by a fire." The camera guy looked shocked. "Yeah, I know. We were just glad no one was hurt or anything. That would have been horrible . . . but, uh . . . so the wedding was cancelled, and the date has yet to be reset."

"So that baby is not yours?"

"No." Pam snorted. "Definitely not." She took hold of the baby and readjusted it so it rested on her shoulder. While patting it gently on the back, she bobbed it up and down very lightly. "No, this is my newest little niece, Maggie. Isn't she just the cutest?"

The cameraman nodded.

"My sister and her husband are on their second honeymoon to Italy, so she asked me to baby-sit," she explained. "And since I was relatively free, I agreed to do it ignoring the fact that kids don't like me. It's okay though because Maggie here is giving me some hands on experience. Plus, she is just an angel."

-DM-

"Would you be interested in returning to Dunder Mifflin for a sort of reunion piece? Michael has a special event planned."

Jim laughed for a good ten minutes. "As opposed to finishing out the rest of my vacation? I'll pass."

-DM-

"Return to Dunder Mifflin? I'd love to," Dwight replied. He ignored the pointed glance Angela gave him and continued. "I guess the only thing that concerns me is that I did not have prior knowledge to Michael's 'special' event. As Assistant Regional Manager, I have a business to know before the other, lesser qualified employees." He stopped. "Wait. Does Jim know?"

The cameraman, Charlie, shook his head.

Dwight smirked, shaking his head with infinite wisdom. "Stupid. Alright, would you tell me, please, what's going on, and then maybe—just maybe—I'll allow you insight on my answer. Tit for tit, what do you say?"

-DM-

"A paper convention in Chicago?" Roy repeated, staring at the camera with perplexity etched all over his face. "Is that even real? I've never heard of anything that stupid."

The cameraman, Jeff, nodded.

"Different paper selling companies get together in Chicago and showcase their products, trade business tips, and participate in various workshops and seminars. It's about a week long, and they'll probably board you up at a hotel."

"And we're invited to this thing?" Roy asked. Jeff assured him that they were as well as the rest of the Scranton Branch employees. "Is it free?"

Pam rolled her eyes as the camera guy assured that, yes, since Corporate was the one making the Scranton Branch participate they would be paying for everything and that included rooming.

"Alright, then," Roy proclaimed, smiling, "we'll go."

Pam was less than pleased. "Wait, Roy, don't you think we should discuss this? Privately," she added, glancing at the camera.

He turned to face her. "Baby, what's there to discuss?" he asked, pushing a piece of hair out of her face and behind her ear. "It's a free trip to Chicago. C'mon, you're always saying how you want to travel more. This is our opportunity. Besides, there's probably something you can take for car sickness."

Pam sighed, resting her chin on an outstretched palm. It wasn't the car sickness she was worried about.

-DM-

"Wait, so let me get this straight," Stanley Hudson demanded, clad in only an undershirt and a pair of boxers, from behind his locked screen door, "I am entitled to a free trip to Chicago for just the wife and I if I agree to go with the Dunder Mifflin staff, including Michael, to this paper convention?"

"That's right."

Stanley shook his head angrily. "Get the hell away from my house."

The door was slammed shut.

-DM-

"Dwight is going to be there."

Jim nearly choked on his spit, or would have if he had any spit to choke on. As it was, he just launched into a coughing spasm. "Whoa, w-w-wait. I'm confused. Is that statement an incentive or a condemnation?" he asked, rubbing his sore throat. "Either way, the answer is still 'no'. And just for future reference, the name 'Dwight' is no longer allowed to be mentioned in the happy zone."

-DM-

"It's a prepaid trip?"

The cameraman nodded.

"And no kids are permitted?" Meredith Palmer repeated again, looking, for the most part, sober.

Once again, the cameraman nodded.

"Are we allowed to bring alcohol or drink it during any period of this trip whatsoever?" she asked.

The cameraman hesitated, and then shrugged.

"Where do I sign up?"

-DM-

"So you'll go?"

After a couple nudges from Roy, Pam reluctantly nodded. "Yeah, I guess we'll go."

"Thank you, baby." He kissed her on the cheek, and she couldn't help but grin.

-DM-

"Alright, I'll go," Creed Bratton said jovially, hiding his four-footed toe out of the camera's view. "But, uh, who's Dunder Mifflin?"

-DM-

"Do I have to go?" Ryan asked, thoroughly depressed at the thought of having to spend any more time at Dunder Mifflin's Scranton branch than he had to. His transfer had been put in months ago, but they had yet to get back to him. Come September, he was absolutely finished with selling paper.

"Not really, but you should go. It's only one week."

Ryan sighed and ran hi hands through his hair much like the gesture he had used after sleeping with Kelly. He had only meant to go in and get out of Dunder Mifflin, not get caught in a chasm so deep it was almost impossible to get out of, but that's what happened. And now, he was in over his head. Then again, what was one week?"

"Okay, I'll go, but under one condition," he said.

"What's that?"

"I will not share a room with either Michael or Kelly."

-DM-

"Would you come if we told you Pam was going to be there?"

Jim hesitated.