when she woke up this morning, she certainly didn't think she'd be getting into some sort of esoteric conversation about her art with a pair of eleven-year-olds who wandered into dunder mifflin in search of leaflets — for what exactly, she's still not sure — but it sure beats answering phones. out of the corner of her eye, she spots jim giving her a do you need me to rescue you sort of look.

but she doesn't. she can handle eleven-year-olds. even one who's so strangely well spoken. the other simply doesn't speak.

" that's really nice, " pam replies, her smile awkward at best, " now, uh, did you say before what size leaflets you need? should i direct you to a member of our sales team? "

another look to jim. now he's trying not to laugh.