Jim Halpert Name Tag Novels & Stories

George stood up and extended her hand, Cara came closer to reach for it--- but that's just what I thought. "Hey, why did you throw away her hands?" I said, standing before George. "I can do what I please. I'm a Halle." George butts in. "Duh, do you always have to mention your surname? Why don't you try to have yourself a nameplate placed on your breast as if you were a service crew? That way, no one will forget your surname, HALLE." "Excuse me?" exclaimed Cara, furrowing her brows. "Who the hell are you to insult me?"

I was about to say but he cut me off. "Yeah, lan Somerhalder, I get that a lot." he huffed running a hand through his hair trying to look hot I assume. Mavis scoffed. 'She was probably going to say Ryan you idiot." Mavis laughed. "Actually, I was going to say Channing Tatum." I said. "Really?" Daryl asked with a smile looking a bit surprised. "No, more like Sheldon from the Big Bang Theory." I laughed seeing the disappointment in his face.

Kind of cute. "It's okay. Just count yourself lucky I don't drink, I'd have gone to get a refill, talk gibberish after getting drunk and forget you ever existed in the morning," I say and she giggles. She's quite the sight for sore eyes. "I'm Jim, by the way. Tim is my twin, I hope you'll be able to tell the difference between us." "I'm Hazel and..." she steals a glance at my brother. "For now, all I know is that I'm hanging out with you and not the Dj."

Well, I guess this is the exact definition of ‘I'm just doing my job’. “What's your name by the way? I want to address you by your name.” The thought inside mt head provokes me to ask for his name. I observe his face if there will be a sign of hesitation, but no. There wasn't. He immediately answers me. “I'm Jack. I'm sorry, I forgot to introduce myself earlier.” Jack has dimples on both sides of his cheeks. He also has a pair of pale green eyes, and natural red looking lips. “It's okay. I just wanted to know your name.”

The other staff members smiled and applauded his explanation, but my next question brought it all to an abrupt end. “Is that all you guys do here at Harrington? celebrate parties? If so, pray to tell, don’t you think there should be at least the decency of informing the person before doing that?” “What?” Almost all the staff members replied at once. Mr. Elliot had a confused look on his face while beside Olivia, who said, 'I told you so'. Mr. Tom, the IT chief, was the oldest in the building. He seemed like he could not contain his disgust anymore. He went on to address me immediately.

“And Jane? I left my card on the bed. If you have any trouble, like the type that followed you and Simon out to that parking lot, call me.” I peek at the bed beside me, and there it is, perched on top of a dark blue sheet crushed to within an inch of its life. A little white card imprinted with a name, email address, phone number, and a pager number in heavy black writing for Doctor Harley Schaffer. I don’t know what I expected his surname would be, but it wasn’t Schaffer. My mind wants to substitute Davidson, which, as silly as that sounds, makes a lot more sense than Schaffer.

His warm smile matched the friendliness in his eyes as he asked, "May I have your name, please?" The woman met his gaze, her expression softening with a touch of a smile. "Allison Crawford," she replied, her voice a gentle melody that carried a hint of fatigue from the long journey. Jack nodded, efficiently scanning a series of tags and labels before his eyes lit up. "Ah, here it is. The name tag says 'Allison Crawford'," he confirmed, glancing up to meet her gaze once more. "Welcome back, Miss Crawford."

My eyes narrow, trying to make sense of everything. He looks at me with that cryptic smile, his piercing blue eyes lighting up for a second. “My name is Harold, child,” he says simply. “Harold Walcott.”

In addition, the polyester, double-pleat cuffed pants they wore added to their rumpled old-school personas. The man named Johnson entered the tiny office, and sat in a chair near the door, so that once Clark sat at his desk chair, they all formed a sort of triangle. Tom was anxious to get this whole fiasco over with. Clark opened up a somewhat beat-up Think Pad, pushed some papers aside, and began typing something. He also pulled out a mini-digital recorder, and hit the record button. “Do you have any objections to being taped?” “No, sir.” “All right, partner, what’s your full name?”

I lie. I really don't know why I said that. "Then do you want to walk with me?" He offers. Seeing my lack of response, he scratches the back of his neck. "I mean, I am not a weird uncle or anything. My name is Tom." "As in Tom and Jerry?" That's the first thing I relate his name to. That silly, cute, cat. "Hah—something like that." He coughs a little. "I am heading there next. Do you want to come too?"