Bears, Beets, Battlestar Galactica:
A Farewell to “The Office”

Thumbing my fingers over rubber buttons, I press the power symbol as a sort of deep flittering ebbs within my heart. No, I am not having a heart episode; rather, I am seconds away from viewing my personal favorite work of art, a place enveloped in beauty and Baz Luhrmann colors, a place streaming with humor and tears and smiles; “The Office.”
Originally created by Ricky Gervais (our previous favorite Golden Globes host until Amy and Tina came along) as a BBC featured comedy, “The Office” was later adapted to fit an American audience by Greg Daniels in 2005. The series introduced us to some of our current favorites such as Rainn Wilson, John Krasinski, Jenna Fischer, B.J. Novak, Ed Helms, and, of course, Steve Carell. It has been running for nine years, and the last episode (the series’ 200th episode) is to air May 16.

I have felt throughout my life that I was somewhat special, merely because the grade number I’m in corresponds with the season of “The Office.” It may sound silly, but I feel honored to know that I am in ninth grade while the show is in its ninth season. This show was, and has been, one of my closest friends, beginning with my first glimpse of it in second grade and remaining with me ever since.

I will not attempt to fool myself; I am well aware of the show’s gradual decline since Steve Carell left. I know the tragic attempts to power through seasons eight and nine were at times mediocre, but respect must be given to a show that has coined such phrases as “Bears, Beets, Battlestar Galactica,” “Support the rabid,” and “The early worm gets the worm.” Even if a decline occurred in its later years, “The Office” has remained an ever-present part of my life and I’m not exactly sure how I would have been shaped without it. Luckily I never had to figure that out.

No matter the situation I find myself in, I am able to dig into the Dunder part of my brain and discover the wisdom handed down to me from the characters. If Dwight has taught me anything besides how to pull off massive glasses worn below a late 19th century circular haircut, it is how to scare children for Christmas and use a teapot for the clearing of one’s nostrils.
When prissy girls wearing Abercrombie slice the air with cruel words, Kelly Kapoor reminds me to remain a strong, independent woman and whip trash-talk into their face.
When a sort of nervous sensation runs through me prior to running the mile, Michael Scott is there to help me carbo-load by handing me two large servings of fettuccini alfredo. He also says to string a St. Pauli’s Girl neon beer sign above the dining room table; to make my parents happy of course.
When I am in Target committing the boring crime of shopping with teenagers, I find comfort in a 45-degree angle annoyed head turn towards the Target camera, capturing the sardonic essence of Jim Halpert.
When I decide to parody a song, I peer back at Michael’s classy examples such as “Total Eclipse of a Fart” and “Goodbye, Toby” from season four of the show.
When I grow frustrated with surrounding stupidity, I look back to the consequences Andy faced following his punching the office wall, and rethink my idea to punch something.
I have learned the proper way to place someone’s stapler in Jell-O as well as how to substitute a bowl of chocolate chip ice cream with mayonnaise and black olives.
Perhaps most importantly, I have learned that the certain sweetness, which threads the seams of life, is humor. Humor through bears, beets, and Battlestar Galactica.
I suppose I have carried on too long; yet, if you have viewed “The Office,” you will know that it is nearly impossible to sum up nine years quickly. I write this knowing that I cannot do the show justice. I suppose I wish for a small sort of reverence to be observed the night that the last episode airs, when Dunder Mifflin is no more. I suppose it is time to retire the mustard-colored shirt.