OPEN WITH ESTABLISHING SHOT PARKING LOT OF DUNDER MIFFLIN, SCRANTON BUSINESS PARK, SCRANTON, PENNSYLVANIA. DWIGHT SHRUTE, ASSISTANT TO THE REGIONAL MANAGER, PULLS INTO THE REGULAR SLOT HE HAS OCCUPIED THROUGH SELF-IMPOSED TRADITION AND INTIMIDATION FOR THE PAST SIX YEARS. DWIGHT EJECTS THE STOP SMOKING TAPE HE HAS MODIFIED AS A MOTIVATIONAL TUTORIAL ON MARTIAL ARTS DISCIPLINE (AFTER COMPLETING THE SECTION COVERING HOW CHEWING GUM CAN HELP THE YOUNG MASTER FOCUS ON DECAPACITATING HIS OPPONENT)
AFTER ENSURING ALL DASHBOARD CONTROLS ARE RETURNED TO THEIR DEFAULT POSITIONS, DWIGHT CHECKS HIS APPEARANCE IN THE REAR VIEW MIRROR, NODDING WITH SOMBER APPROVAL. HIS REVERIE IS INTERRUPTED BY A WET, METALLIC EXPLOSION. DWIGHT CRINGES AS ANOTHER OBJECT STRIKES HIS CAR ROOF, THEN ANOTHER.
DWIGHT (PUNCHING THE PANIC BUTTON ON HIS KEY FOB): DEFCON Two! DEFCON Two!!
DWIGHT’S TRUNK FLIES OPEN -- HE HAS PRESSED THE WRONG BUTTON. HE SHRIEKS AS A LARGE, WET OBJECT SLIDES NOISILY DOWN HIS DRIVER’S WINDOW. IT IS A FISH. DESPITE HIS TERROR, DWIGHT RECOGNIZES IT AUTOMATICALLY AS A WALLEYE, A CREATURE HE CHARACTERIZES AS “THE LONG-TAILED WEASEL OF THE AQUATIC WORLD.”
DWIGHT: DEFCON One!! DEFCON One!! BUT THE BOMBARDMENT APPARENTLY HAS ENDED. HE PEERS OVER HIS FISH-COVERED HOOD, AND, AFTER COMPOSING HIMSELF AND STRAIGHTENING HIS TIE, CAUTIOUSLY OPENS HIS DOOR. DWIGHT STEPS OUT; HIS FOOT MAKES CONTACT WITH A DECEASED WALLEYE, AND HE SLIPS TO THE CONCRETE, THUMPING HIS SELF-HARDENED CRANIUM ON THE DOORFRAME. THE IMPACT DISLODGES A FISH PERCHED AT THE EDGE OF THE ROOF, AND IT LANDS WETLY ON HIS CHEST. DWIGHT SCREAMS FEMININELY.
A FACE APPEARS ABOVE HIM. IT IS HIS COWORKER, JIM HALPERT, SMILING GENIALLY.
JIM: Morning, Dwight. What’s up?
DWIGHT (TERSELY): Move on, Halpert.
JIM (SHRUGS AT CAMERA CREW): Sure thing, Dwight. (STARTS TO TURN, THEN STOPS) Hey, Dwight, where did you put the Saferight Insurance orders?
DWIGHT: They’re on Michael’s desk. There was a last-minute change. Goldenrod instead of salmon.
JIM: Way I’d go. Say, you want a little help there?
DWIGHT (DEFIANTLY BRUSHING THE WALLEYE FROM HIS CHEST): The day I need your monkey-pawed assistance is the day I contact my dojo master and instruct him to humanely euthanize me. He’d do it in a second, but you wouldn’t understand that.
JIM: Sure I would. I’ll be around, though, OK? By the way, they’re beauties, Dwight. What did you use? Cheese bait?
DWIGHT (SNEERS NASTILY AS DEAD WALLEYE SETTLES INTO HIS ARMPIT): Cheese bait for walleye. You’re such a woman.
TOBY FLENDERSON (SIGHS AS DWIGHT ENTERS DUNDER MIFFLIN OFFICES, WALLEYE TUCKED UNDER HIS ARM): We talked about this, Dwight. No dead animals in the office.
DWIGHT (FLOPPING WALLEYE ONTO RECEPTIONIST’S COUNTER WITH GREAT DIGNITY): We agreed no mammals. And that was for lunch. This is evidence.
TOBY (GLANCING WEARILY AT CAMERA CREW): Evidence of what, Dwight?
DWIGHT: Of an apparent natural anomaly. Maybe a paranormal occurrence. It’s not my field of specialty.
CREED BRATTON PASSES, STOPPING TO EYE THE FISH NOW STARING LIFELESSLY INTO PAM BEESLY’S HORRIFIED EYES.
CREED: This belong to anybody?
DWIGHT SNATCHES FISH FROM COUNTER. IT SLIPS FROM HIS GRASP, SAILS ACROSS THE OFFICE, AND LANDS ON STANLEY HUDSON’S DESK. STANLEY STARES AT THE WALLEYE FOR A SECOND, AND TOSSES HIS CROSSWORD PUZZLE ONTO THE BLOTTER.
STANLEY (RISING): That’s a smoke break.
CAMERA PANS TO MICHAEL SCOTT, REGIONAL MANAGER WITH DUNDER MIFFLIN’S SCRANTON BRANCH, AS HE ENTERS. HE IS OBVIOUSLY FORMULATING A WITTY BON MOT FOR THE TROOPS WHEN HE RECOILS WITH DISTASTE.
MICHAEL: Sweet fancy Moses! (EXPLETIVE DELETED) What in the wide world of sports?
PAM: I think Dwight had an accident..
MICHAEL: I think the entire East Coast chapter of NOW had an accident. Whew!
TOBY (PEEKING ANXIOUSLY AT CAMERA CREW): Michael.
MICHAEL: Apparently, last week’s Office Hygiene Awareness Day had absolutely no impact on anyone here.
TOBY (TO CAMERA): You take one personal day…
MICHAEL: OK, then. I’d like to see the senoritas in the conference room, pronto.
JIM: Gee, Michael, I kinda think that’s illegal. As was last week’s Office Hygiene Awareness Day.
MICHAEL (SIGHS AGGRIEVEDLY; LOOKS TO CAMERA CREW FOR SUPPORT): I never thought I’d see the day when women’s health issues would be verboten. What a blow to the sisterhood, am I right, my home girls?
ANGELA MARTIN HUFFS BACK TO ACCOUNTING. PAM LOOKS NON-COMMITAL. HAVING GARNERED NO SUPPORT, MICHAEL HEADS TOWARD HIS OFFICE. HE DETOURS TO THE FILE CABINETS, WHERE MEREDITH IS SEARCHING FOR A FOLDER. LEANING IN, HE TAKES A LONG SNIFF, SMILES DISARMINGLY AS MEREDITH WHIPS AROUND.
MEREDITH: Hey! I’m not peeing in that (EXPLETIVE DELETED) cup again!
9 a.m. two days later
A PAIR OF OFFICIAL-LOOKING TYPES -- A TALL YOUNG MAN AND A DIMINUTIVE REDHEADED WOMAN -- ENTER DUNDER MIFFLIN. SPECIAL AGENT FOX MULDER APPROACHES RECEPTION DESK, PLACES ID ON COUNTER. PAM GLANCES CURIOUSLY AT CAMERA CREW.
MULDER: Special Agent Fox Mulder, FBI. This is my partner. We’re here to investigate an anonymous report that originated from this office.
PAM (STANDS): Dwight? FBI.
DWIGHT’S OUTSIZED HEAD POPS UP. HE HANGS UP ON PROSPECTIVE CLIENT.
DWIGHT (PRACTICALLY SPRINTING TOWARD RECEPTION DESK AS PAM PICKS UP PHONE): Agent Fox Mulder? Dwight Shrute. You must’ve gotten my message.
MULDER (SHAKING DWIGHT’S HAND): Your anonymous message? That mentioned you by name and included your work number?
DWIGHT: I didn’t know who might be listening. It said on the Internet you investigate supernatural and paranormal phenomena,
SCULLY (MUMBLING): Here we go. SHE SPOTS THE CAMERA CREW FOR THE FIRST TIME.
DWIGHT REGARDS SCULLY CRITICALLY.
DWIGHT: This is her, right?
MICHAEL EMERGES FROM OFFICE.
MICHAEL: Michael Scott, regional manager and government liaison. What can I do you for?
MULDER (FLASHING ID): Special Agent Fox Mulder. This is…
MICHAEL: I knew this day was coming. Look, I can personally vouch for everybody here, unless they’re lying, of course. Oscar? Show them your green card.
OSCAR: Jesus, Michael, you know I was born here. I’m a citizen. For crying out loud, you met my folks, Michael.
MICHAEL (TO CAMERA): I remember now. Lovely, lovely, gracious woman, Oscar’s mamacita. A real MILF, I believe the expression is.
OSCAR (TO CAMERA): Michael thought she was with the cleaning crew. She was wearing a Dona Karin dress. She’s still trying to talk me into going into interpretive dance.
MICHAEL (SEARCHES OUT KELLY KAPOOR): Ah, I see. A moment, please. Hey, there, Kelly. What are you still doing here?
KELLY (PEEKS FROM AROUND CUBICLE, COSMO DANGLING FROM HER HAND): What? Where am I supposed to be?
MICHAEL: Well, Corporate, silly. C’mon, daylight’s burning, giddyup.
KELLY: Why am I supposed to be at Corporate. (EYES WIDEN WITH EXCITEMENT) Oh, my God, did Ryan call?
MICHAEL: That’s right, Kelly. Ryan said he wanted his little Now, run along to New York while I talk to these two federal agents. Homeland Security, right?
MULDER: Mr. Scott, I don’t know what impression you’re under, but Special Agent Scully and I are investigating Mr. Shrute’s claim of a paranormal occurrence in your parking lot. We’d like to debrief Mr. Shrute.
MICHAEL (MURMURS, SMIRKING AT CAMERA CREW): That’s what she said. (PAM ROLLS EYES AS JIM LIP-SYNCHS MICHAEL’S LINE)
SCULLY (BLINKS): What?
MULDER: Ah, we’d just like to determine if the incident that occurred the other day was an intentional act, the result of some meteorological or physical fluke, or an actual paranormal event. I’ve read numerous case studies of “falls,” sometimes explained through natural circumstances, sometimes linked with sightings of strange lights in the sky.
MICHAEL (TO CAMERA): UFOs? Yes, I believe in UFOs, if by UFO you mean a UNITED corporate team FAITHFUL to the OBJECTIVES of personal integrity and solid stationery sales principles. Yes, I believe in visitations -- regularly scheduled, mano-a-mano client visitations. Aliens? Well, I think an alien is just a friend we haven’t made yet, unless it’s the lizardy kind with three or four rows of teeth, like in Alien or Predator or Alien II. Or Alien Vs. Predator. And of course, we all know those don’t exist, like Bigfoot or unicorns or the duckbilled platypus or other mythecological creatures. So, bottom line, I’d have to say, no, I don’t believe in UFOs. I mean, get real.
DWIGHT (TO CAMERA): UFOs? No-brainer – they’re an elaborate hoax staged by the satellite TV consortium to convince an unsuspecting consumer public poor video reception is the result of otherwordly intervention. And, of course, the FCC’s in on it. (PAUSES, LOWERS VOICE) But if there were extraterrestrials, I am proficient in several martial arts disciplines. Any aliens as ill-advised as to invade Scranton would sincerely regret ever meeting Dwight Shrute. Just ask anyone in this office.
MULDER: We’ll want to use your conference room to interview everyone in the office.
MICHAEL: Yesshir, Officer.
TOBY: Michael, we probably should wait until the corporate legal guy gets here.
MICHAEL (TURNS IRRITABLY): Go, scram, find a small animal to torture.
MULDER: We can wait, if you’d prefer.
MICHAEL (SMILES INTO CAMERA): We here at Dunder Mifflin have nothing to hide from Father Sam. Don’t worry about him – he’s what we call a person of no interest, OK? What are you doing here, anyway?
TOBY: Dwight could have been injured. I have to file a human resources report…
MICHAEL: Blah blah blah…
TOBY (SIGHS): Corporate wants me to be here.
MICHAEL: Well, I am here as Corporate’s official representative, so you can go check for unauthorized fondling in the break room.
TOBY: They said not to, uh, not to leave you alone with them.
TOBY (TO CAMERA): Last spring, Michael invited the IRS auditor to a “three-margarita business confab.” When that temp filed the harassment complaint last month, he took the EEOC caseworker to Hooter’s. I’m sorry, legal says I can’t discuss ongoing litigation.
MULDER: So. Mr. Scott, do you remember anything else unusual the morning of Mr. Shrute’s...attack?
MICHAEL: Well, I know Meredith had a really bad haddock…
SCULLY: Excuse me?
MICHAEL (SMIRKS AT CAMERA): Yeah. A bad haddock. She was feeling really eel.
MULDER: I don’t understand. You think her illness had something to do with—
MICHAEL: Sorry, sorry. Guess I was just floundering. (CRACKS UP)
SCULLY: Ah, flounder, haddock. That’s very good.
MICHAEL: I mean, I’m sure I could lay my hands on her attendance records. Shoot, I think they’re at Corporate. I could get them to send them over C.O.D. C.O.D.?
MULDER STARES AT THE DEAD WALLEYE ON THE CONFERENCE TABLE. THE WALLEYE STARES BACK THROUGH THE PLASTIC BAG DWIGHT HAS PLACED BEFORE THE AGENTS.
SCULLY (READING LABEL ON ZIPLOCKED BAG): Lackawanna County Sheriff’s Department?
DWIGHT: I’m a former deputy. I always keep a supply in my desk. For just this kind of situation.
MULDER: Fish falling from the sky.
DWIGHT (MAINTAINING RIGID EYE CONTACT): Or similar situations.
DWIGHT (TO CAMERA): When I resigned my badge, I was allowed to keep several items as mementoes. Evidence bags, a police scanner, swabs. I offered to stop by the station to drop them off, but my brother officers told me I didn’t need bother. They were quite insistent. Semper fi.
DWIGHT: There should be enough for a DNA sample.
MULDER: DNA? Fish DNA? Why--?
SCULLY (BENDING OVER DECEASED, BAGGED FISH): Mulder, what’s this powdery substance all over the, ah, corpse?
MULDER SQUINTS AT THE PISCINE DECEDENT, THEN LOOKS UP INCREDULOUSLY AT DWIGHT.
MULDER: Did you actually fingerprint this fish?
DWIGHT: He’s clean. (HOLDS BAG ABOVE HIS HEAD, STARES AT WALLEYE’S BELLY) Or she...
JIM: Hey, no way. I had absolutely nothing to do with Dwight’s, uh, (GRINS DESPITE HIMSELF) fish storm.
SCULLY: The reason we ask is, your coworkers have detailed a number of, well, pranks you’ve reportedly perpetrated over the last few years. Most targeting Mr. Shrute.
MULDER (SMILING SLIGHTLY): You made him believe the CIA was sending him on a secret mission?
JIM (GRIMACES AT CAMERA CREW): It was a slow day…
SCULLY: On another occasion, you rigged his car alarm to go off whenever he went to the men’s room?
JIM (TO CAMERA): It’s easier than you think, if you know anything about magnets and radio frequencies. It took three days, though, and I had to get Dwight to leave his keys on his desk while Pam distracted… (PAUSES, LAUGHES NERVOUSLY) What? No, what?
MULDER: You have a particular bone to pick with Mr. Shrute? ‘Cause, I mean, I appreciate a good practical joke as much as the next guy.
SCULLY: Although this particular “practical” joke could have resulted in property damage or personal injury.
MULDER GLANCES SYMPATHETICALLY AT CAMERA CREW, THEN CATCHES SCULLY GLARING AND BEGINS SHUFFLING FOLDERS.
JIM: Besides, I wasn’t anywhere near here when it happened. I was late to work.
SCULLY: Can anyone back you up on that?
JIM STARTS TO SPEAK, GLANCES AT PAM, THE RECEPTIONIST, WHO’S ENGAGED IN AN APPARENT DISPUTE WITH ANGELA. PAM SPOTS HIM, BLUSHES, TURNS BACK TO ANGELA. HE SHRUGS, SMILING WEAKLY: Well, uh, I guess not.
PAM (TO CAMERA, SMILING RADIANTLY): Wow. I can’t believe he actually lied to a federal law enforcement agency. For me. That is soooo sweet.
MULDER (PORING THROUGH FOLDER AS CREED SELECTS ANOTHER MUNG BEAN FROM THE PAPER TOWEL ON HIS BLOTTER): I see from your personnel record you were once an ordained priest.
CREED (SHRUGS): I worked with youth for a while. And I was an ordained high priest.
SCULLY AND MULDER LOOK UP SIMULTANEOUSLY.
CREED (SHRUGS): I earned the title. Took a lot of sacrifices. (MULDER’S EYES WIDEN). I mean, a lot of sacrifice.
CREED (TO CAMERA): I told them none of the neighborhood cats. I was very adamant about it. (SHAKES HEAD FONDLY) Parishioners can be difficult.
CREED: Hey, you know an Agent Reyes?
MULDER: Monica Reyes? New Orleans field office, Ritual Crime Unit?
CREED: That’s her. If you ever run into her, tell her I said hi. (PAUSES) Except tell her Malachi. (POPS A HANDFUL OF BEANS INTO HIS MOUTH) She’ll know who you mean.
PARKING LOT – TIGHT SHOT AS MULDER KNEELS BESIDES DWIGHT’S FENDER. HE JUMPS AS HE SPOTS CAMERA CREW.
MULDER: Jesus, guys, you know the meaning of a little personal space? This is a federal investigation, you know. Well, OK, maybe not an investigation. But Scully seemed OK with it – not that I have to ask her permission or anything. I mean, she is my partner. Professionally speaking. (STANDS ABRUPTLY) This kind of fish fall isn’t exactly unprecedented. In 1947, thousands of fish bombarded a strip 75 feet wide and 1,000 feet long in Marksville, Louisiana. What was weird about that one was conditions were pretty calm – most organic falls occur during storms. The 1830 fall at Nokulhatty Factory, India, occurred during a drizzle, rather than a real storm, but the principle’s the same. (STEPS TOWARD THE CAMERA) One of the more unusual phenomena is the Lluvia de Peces, or “Rain of Fish,”which occurs between May and July each year in Honduras. Although it’s always preceded by dark clouds and accompanied by at least two hours of rain, thunder, and high winds, the fish that fall are freshwater species, rather than the marine species you might expect if there were a meteorological cause. In fact, some believe the Rain of Fish originated in the 1850s after a Catholic missionary, Father Jose Manuel Subirana, prayed to God to help the poor of the region…
(CAMERA DROPS TO MULDER’S FEET AS CREW RETREATS)
MULDER (OFF-CAMERA): Hey! I haven’t even told you about the 1996 toad fall in Llanddewi Brefi...!
KEVIN: I had a cousin one time who said he saw weird lights in the sky. Of course, he lives by the airport.
SCULLY (RUBBING HER TEMPLE): About Mr. Shrute.
KEVIN: Oh, and one time in the breakroom, I found a pork rind that looked like Gerald Ford. Which is kind of unusual, because most snack foods that look like presidents usually look like Nixon…
SCULLY: That’s very interesting. Look, has Mr. Shrute had any run-ins with his associates or clients lately?
KEVIN: Or is it potatoes? That look like Nixon, I mean.
KEVIN (TO CAMERA): The supernatural is kind of like a hobby of mine. Next to the band, of course. I get really worked up sometimes. (GRINS SHYLY) Plus, Agent Scully’s kinda awesome, you know? (LEANS IN) I think she might have been flirting a little. She kept arching her eyebrow at me.
ANGELA: If you want my opinion – and you probably don’t – I think it may be a sign.
SCULLY (LOOKS AT THE CAMERA, THEN QUICKLY AWAY): A…sign?
ANGELA (SIGHS): A portent, an omen. You know what I mean. (NODS AT CROSS AROUND SCULLY’S NECK)
SCULLY: A religious portent. Ms. Martin…
ANGELA: Miss. I’m not one of those feminist types.
SCULLY: Miss Martin, why would this alleged religious manifestation occur here at Dunder Mifflin?
ANGELA: Just look around. Promiscuity (PAN TO KELLY, WHO HAS MULDER VIRTUALLY PINNED AGAINST A FILE CABINET), aberrant lifestyles (ZOOM IN ON OSCAR, UNDERLINING PASSAGES IN AN INSTYLE MAGAZINE), thievery (PAN TO SUPPLY CABINET, WHERE CREED IS POCKETING A STAPLER). It’s not a paper supply company – it’s the Scranton, Pennsylvania, branch of Sodom and Gomorrah. I mean, two of my coworkers are actually having an offsite relationship of, you know, the intimate type. (GLANCES AT JIM LEANING OVER PAM’S DESK. DWIGHT WALKS BY, STOPS, SMILES PITIABLY AT ANGELA. SHE TURNS ABRUPTLY BACK TO SCULLY, WHO IS STARING ACROSS THE OFFICE WITH A FROWN. SHE FOLLOWS SCULLY’S GAZE TO MULDER, WHO GRINS GUILTILY BACK AT SCULLY AS HE TRIES TO SQUIRM AWAY FROM AN ADVANCING KELLY)
SCULLY (CATCHES ANGELA’S DISAPPROVING SMILE): Uh, I’m sorry. You were saying?
ANGELA (SWEETLY): Oh, nothing.
SCULLY (TO CAMERA): I usually don’t mind indulging Mulder in these little fishing expeditions -- no pun intended – although I’m usually the one who has to file the expense reports, justify the travel vouchers, cover for him with Skinner. God knows I don’t know how I’m going to explain why the FBI is investigating falling walleye. It’s like this all the time. I mean, do other people’s boyfriends act like this? (STOPS DEAD) Partners, other people’s partners, other agent’s partners. I need that tape. No, really. I’m serious.
MICHAEL (BURSTING FROM HIS OFFICE, SHOVING KEVIN ASIDE): OK, gang -- mystery solved!
MULDER, LEANING AGAINST THE RECEPTION COUNTER, MURMURS INTO HIS CELL PHONE AND POCKETS IT. SCULLY EMERGES FROM BREAKROOM, WHERE SHE HAS BEEN AUTOPSYING DECEASED WALLEYE.
MULDER: You got something, Mr. Scott?
MICHAEL (CHECKING FOR CAMERA CREW): Only the answer to our little conun-, conumbra…
STANLEY (PASSING BY): Conundrum.
MICHAEL (SMILES): No, Stanley, I don’t think that’s right.
MULDER: What’s your theory, Mr. Scott?
MICHAEL (PAUSES FOR SUSPENSE): Super Sargasso Sea.
MICHAEL (TO CAMERA): Google. It’s like the compendrium of mankind’s assimilated knowledge. For instance, these shoes. (PAN TO OVERLY SHINY BLACK LOAFERS) Where else would you find a pair of high-quality Bhutanese footwear – 100 percent animal-friendly nylon – for a mere $17? Not to mention some of the world’s finest nude art photography.
MICHAEL: The fish in question disappear into the Super Sargasso Sea, travel through some kind of cosmic wormhole, and pop out over the Scranton Office Park. E pluribus unum -- elementary.
MULDER: Well, that’s an interesting theory, Mr. Scott. Except the Super Sargasso Sea is purported to be an oceanic phenomenon, and the walleye is a freshwater species.
MICHAEL (LOOKS ANXIOUSLY AT THE CAMERA): Welllll, then, it must be the Lake Effect.
JIM: Um, Michael, isn’t the lake effect when cold air comes off a large body of water and…?
MICHAEL (NODS BRISKLY): Well, I guess I’m not needed here. We have a whole room full of physiologists.
TOBY: I think you mean physicists, Michael.
MICHAEL GLARES AT TOBY, TURNS TO THE CAMERA, AND DARTS BACK INTO HIS OFFICE, SLAMMING THE DOOR.
KELLY (IN BREAK ROOM DOORWAY): Well, hey, Agent Mulder.
MULDER JUMPS, BUMPING INTO SODA MACHINE AS HE SPINS AROUND.
MULDER: Hey. Uh, Ms. Kapoor, you seen Agent Scully?
KELLY: She’s still doing gross stuff with that fish. STEPS FORWARD; MULDER BACKS INTO THE VENDING MACHINE. So, I was wondering what I’d have to do.
MULDER (SWALLOW): What?
KELLY: To be an FBI agent like you guys. I mean, obviously, there’s no height requirement, right? See, ever since Ryan left me to go to Corporate, I kinda feel like my life lacks direction, you know? Then I saw Miss Congeniality last night. And then you guys came in today, and it was like, oh, you know…
KELLY: What’s that?
KELLY (TO CAMERA): Actually, I just kind of figure the FBI’s gotta be like a real guy mall, you know? I mean, Fox is kinda geeky, but like they say, smart is sexy, if the guy’s kinda hot already...
KELLY (DELIBERATING OVER BEVERAGES): I mean, like, I know a billion long-distance relationships that work. One of the girls in my yoga class has been dating a guy for half of his sentence, and they haven’t even done it yet. Well, unless you count conjugal, and I wouldn’t think you could focus enough to really get into it. (TURNS FROM MACHINE; BREAK ROOM IS EMPTY) Agent Mulder? Fox?
FLEEING BREAK ROOM, MULDER RUNS INTO SCULLY.
MULDER (SELF-CONSCIOUSLY): Hey.
SCULLY: Hey, yourself. I’m going to have to bathe in RealLemon for the next three months to get rid of this smell.
MULDER: Can I bring the garlic butter?
SCULLY (NODS TOWARD KEVIN, WHO DUCKS BEHIND A PLANT): I think the big fella there already would like to take me to Red Lobster.
MULDER: Long as you don’t get crabs. (MUMBLES) That’s what she said.
SCULLY: Did you hear yourself just now?
MULDER (SLUMPS AGAINST A DESK): Oh, God.
SCULLY: Yeah. And on top of that, your fish have gone AWOL.
SCULLY: The bag you left in the break room fridge is gone. Your evidence has swum south.
MULDER (DISTRACTED): That’s an avian behavior. Shit. But you did finish your…?
SCULLY: Walleye workup? Yup -- I plan to write it up for the International Journal of Pathology. There was distinct cellular damage I’d normally associate with freezing. Rapid freezing. Flash freezing. Which would corroborate my theory that this fish fall was a fish stunt, by one of Shrute’s coworkers.
MULDER: It might also be explained by these fish being abruptly collected and transported through the higher stratosphere or maybe even a dimensional rift.
SCULLY (TO CAMERA): Oh, yeah, that makes much more sense. Fine, whatever.
SCULLY (TURNS TO SEE EMPLOYEES GATHERING AROUND RECEPTION DESK): Oh, Lord, what now?
MICHAEL: It has become obvious with this latest “occurrence” -- what I call the miracle of the fishes (ANGELA GASPS) -- that something here stinks like a day-old walleye. I think it’s the stench of supernaturality, and it calls for supernaturalized measures. Jim? Where are you going?
JIM (BAG SLUNG OVER SHOULDER, HAND ON EXIT DOOR KNOB): I’ve got a three o’clock call at the high school, Michael.
MICHAEL: Oh, OK. So who knows anything about exorcisms?
JIM (RELEASING KNOB AND SHRUGGING OFF JACKET): But I bet they’ll wait.
MICHAEL: I called St. Ignatius, but Father Whatever -- something Irish or Italian -- wouldn’t come over. Apparently, workplace exorcism is too commercial or secular or something. So we’re going to have to improvise a little.
ANGELA: Absolutely not!!
TOBY: Michael, no religious ceremonies or rites in the office. Jan warned you after that Native American manhood thing…
MICHAEL (SIGHS): Don’t worry, Toby -- there will be no wooden stakes or garlic involved. Begone, Evil Workplace Spirit, begone!! (GRINS AT CAMERA AS TOBY SHUFFLES OFF TO HIS CUBICLE) There -- this house is cleeeeaaan!
JIM: That’s from Poltergeist, not The Exorcist.
MICHAEL: Nonetheless. (PULLS A BOTTLE OF AQUAVITA FROM HIS POCKET) Voila! Holy water!
ANGELA (EVEN PALER): Our father, who art in heaven…
PAM: Michael, I think you actually have to have water blessed to make it holy.
MICHAEL: Good point, Mother Teresa. Anybody have a Bible handy?
DWIGHT (YANKS OPEN DESK DRAWER, PULLS OUT GREEN BIBLE): I’ve got one, Michael!!
JIM (SQUINTING): “Gideon -- Property of Scranton Best Western.”
ANGELA SHOVES PHYLLIS OUT OF THE WAY, RUSHES FOR WOMEN’S ROOM.
MULDER (WHISPERS): Flash frozen, huh?
SCULLY: Merely a theory.
MULDER: Works for me. What say we make like a walleye?
MULDER (BY REST STOP SIGN, TO CAMERA): There’s a phenomenon called Sick Building Syndrome. Modern, sealed office buildings accumulate free-floating bacteria and low-grade viruses, fumes from paint and carpet polymers, and stale, often overcirculated air. As a result, workers suffer a greater frequency of chronic colds, allergies, headaches, and other symptoms that can manifest in depression, apathy, and, in some cases, undue stress and tension. I don’t think that’s the case here. I can’t offer any other explanation, but maybe, sometimes, there are things we just aren’t meant to understand. Right?
MICHAEL (TO CAMERA): Obviously, we were dabbling in forces too cosmic for Agent Mulder’s bureaucratic mind to wrap its brain around.
DWIGHT EXITS DUNDER MIFFLIN, GLANCING WARILY TO THE CLOUDS AS HE CROSSES THE PARKING LOT TO HIS CAR. SUDDENLY, HE HALTS, STARING AT A WHITE PANEL VAN PARKED THREE SPACES AWAY. THE LOGO PAINTED ON THE DOOR READS “SCRANTON SATELLITE TV SERVICES.” DWIGHT STANDS TRANSFIXED FOR ANOTHER FIVE SECONDS, THEN PULLS HIS COAT OVER HIS HEAD AND SPRINTS FOR HIS CAR. TIRES SCREECH AS HE ESCAPES FROM THE LOT.
MICHAEL (VOICEOVER): There is so much we don’t know about this crazy universe of ours. What makes the planets revolve around the Earth? (DISPLAYS A SHARPIE) How many angels can dance on the tip of a pen? What is the sound of one hand clapping? Geez, that doesn’t make any sense. The sound of two hands clapping, yeah. If a tree falls in the forest and nobody’s there, how do we know it really fell, unless you sent somebody in to check? And then the whole thing gets screwed up. Heavy, heavy mojo.
KEVIN (TO CAMERA): It’s been sticking in my craw ever since Dwight said the band sucked at Phyllis’ wedding. I eat at the Red Lobster a lot, and we played the assistant manager’s kid’s bar mitzvah one time. And the news chopper guy at Channel 5 kinda owes me for fixing him up with my cousin. I had no idea they’d call in the FBI and try to do an exorcism and all that stuff. (SMILES CONSPIRATORALLY) It was sooo sweet.
CREED IS AT HOME, IN HIS RECLINER, WATCHING A DOCUMENTARY ON UFOS, WHEN A BELL RINGS. HE JUMPS UP, SPRINTS INTO THE KITCHEN, AND POPS A STEAMING TRAY OF MAC AND CHEESE FROM THE MICROWAVE. USING AN OBVIOUSLY PURLOINED YMCA TOWEL, HE CARRIES IT TO HIS TV TRAY.
MICHAEL (VOICEOVER): These are the questions Man – and Women, of course – have been asking for decades. You could take the world’s smartest guy -- Alex Trebek -- clone him into a hundred Alex Trebeks, and he – them, they – still wouldn’t figure out the secrets of the universe. That’s why they call it The Unknown, or as Mr. Rod Serling used to call it, the Twilight Zone. Because we don’t know what’s in there, in that zone of perpetual twilight.
CREED DISAPPEARS INTO THE KITCHEN AS HIS MAC AND CHEESE COOLS. HE EMERGES A SECOND LATER WITH A LARGE FRYING PAN. HE NUDGES THE CONTENTS OF THE PAN ONTO THE PLATE NEXT TO HIS MAC. SIGHING CONTENTEDLY, HE SETTLES INTO HIS RECLINER TO ENJOY HIS WALLEYE DINNER.
MICHAEL (TO CAMERA): What we don’t know, well, it could fill a thimble. (RETHINKS LAST STATEMENT) A thimble the size of the Grand Canyon.