Putting a Finger on My Michael Scott Envy

Was watching a rerun of The Office late last night.  It was the one in which someone took a dump on Michael Scott's office carpet.  He assumed the culprit was one of his direct reports and was initially paranoid and devastated that one of his dear team members would do something like this to their beloved boss. 

Turns out it was one of his old work buddies who paid him a suprise visit and left him "a little package" as a prank.  Michael, of course, roared in relief, and then said he "knew all along whoever did it, did it out of love."  The episode ends with Michael completely and utterly joyous, and without an ounce of the pain he felt moments earlier when he feared his team was turning on him.

When I meet a real-world Michael Scott (and yes, he's out there), I always initially feel a twinge of envy.  They're so quick to spin a situation as positive just to avoid any pain associated with what might actually be the truth. Because this self-protective behavior seems to serve them well, part of me wishes I had my own pair of Michael Scott blinders to block out my own pain.

But then, thankfully, the directors close the episode with Jim or Pam looking to the camera, openly suspicious of Michael's irrational interpretations.  It serves as a reassurance that while Michael Scott's blinders insulates him from pain, they also prevents him from developing deep, meaningful relationships with his colleagues.  He spends so much time protecting his fragile little ego that he firmly establishes himself as the butt of the joke without ever realizing it.