Pam should have never taken the trip to Houston.

No more than four hours ago, Pam was leading what she thought to be a happy, fulfilling life. Did she grow up wanting to be a receptionist at a realty office? No. But she made the best of it. And sure, her husband isn’t much of a looker, but he’s a sweet man and gave her two beautiful children. Of course she would like Tiffany to pump the brakes a little when it comes to boys, and Tyler’s ADHD is starting to really become an issue, but she’s fairly confident her kids won’t grow up to be criminals or musicians or anything like that. When put into perspective, Pam figured she ended up with a nice life.

That was until about 30 seconds ago. Thirty seconds ago, Pam was excited. She was about to see Yu Darvish pitch a perfect game for her Texas Rangers. He was only one out away, and the Astros weren’t even coming close to getting a hit so far. Pam didn’t know how many perfect games had been pitched in history, but it had to be pretty low. Less than 100, right? No matter, Pam was about to witness history. She was already thinking about how she would explain what happened to everyone in the office and her book club. She was crafting the narrative in her head. People would be hanging on her every word. For once, Pam would be the coolest person in the room.

And then some Godless fuckface named Marwin Gonzalez went and ruined everything.

Why did Pam even care about this in the first place? So she would’ve seen a perfect game. Big deal. She still has to go home, pay that slut of a babysitter, feed the dogs because Tyler certainly forgot because Tyler always forgets, then go upstairs and try to fall asleep before her fatass husband because his undiagnosed sleep apnea causes him to snore so loudly she’s left awake half the night. All that work so she can wake up, drive he broken-down Taurus to her shit job so she can scrape together enough money to send Tiffany to what will most certainly be some sort of state college.

Yu Darvish pitching a perfect game means nothing. Him not pitching a perfect game means exactly the same amount of nothing. In the end, she will be dead. Mourned by few, remembered by none. And nothing can change that now. Not a perfect game, or this stupid fucking shirt, or the new cooking class she started, or the comments her boss made about promoting her to Assistant Title Examiner. There are no little victories in life, there’s only ultimate defeat. And everyone, EVERYONE gets defeated.

Pam is realizing all of this right … now.

Pam hates Marwin Gonzalez.

Pam should have never taken the trip to Houston.