A Famous Waste: I Turned Down the Opportunity to Meet “Jim” from “The Office”

He was surrounded by 10-15 women at the back entrance to the Coolidge Corner Theatre. The ladies were a constant laugh track. The guy could have picked his nose and rubbed a booger into somebody’s eye — it would have been hilarious. But I got to give it to him — what magnetism.

There was something about the pointy-ness of his leather shoes — yeah, he’s probably got a big one.

Cleaning up his disgusting mess backstage put me out of the mood — What was I to say? Hey there, Mr. “Jim”, wow, I had no idea how much you loved guacamole! — in a bowl of which he’d left long and meditative fingerprints. There were similar disruptions in the salsa and salmon pâté. Cheese littered the table in chunky streaks.

Apparently the famous don’t deal with utensils. At parties he’s known to sign autographs by sticking his dick into the birthday cake: Love, “Jim”.

This summer I worked at a creative writing center in Roxbury. I made up stories with 2nd graders about two-necked giraffes coming to realize the power of friendship, and sold Loch Ness monster excrement in our crypto-zoological store (The Greater Boston Bigfoot Research Institute). Author and screenwriter Dave Eggers founded our program, and because of him we occasionally had relatively hip and high-profile events like this one, a pre-screening of Away We Go.

So that’s fine and dandy — the movie tickles a few indie-prone nerves, and I’m fond of the Alexi Murdoch soundtrack. I even get to sneak in a friend. She just about shits her panties when she realizes “Jim’s” real-life brother is seated two rows in front of us along with other “Jim” family and high-school acquaintances. I lean over and whisper, He’s here.

–Who? Is he really?

–Yeah. He’s in the building.

–Oh My God!

A Q&A follows. After a few minutes, all questions about the movie have been ditched for ones about “Jim” and “Pam’s” pregnancy. At that point I’m already out of my seat and backstage to start cleanup. It’s walking out into the street holding a tremendous trash bag that I see “Jim” with his admirers.

I’d like to say that we made eye contact — that for a brief moment he came unhinged, like when someone hiccups into their coffee. I walk past their circle, and toward the dumpster. He may or may not have seen me. But I still get to think, you know, it could be nice to be a janitor, to have faceless duty. Maybe it’s something that even an actor could miss.