I figured someone must have had this idea before, but I've been going through the archives and I haven't found it yet. In any case, here's my answer to the question: "how did these people get hired anyway?"
Ed Truck felt the same way about the company that he felt about his lunch-box: sure it was keeping him fed, but he couldn't honestly put a lot of faith in it in a crunch. Now the company was expanding, deciding that he was just the man to create this new Scranton branch. Personally, Truck thought it was a move that was bound to backfire in the end, but he didn't argue with the company any more than he argued with his lunch-box.
The kid he was interviewing now looked like he'd argued with a few lunch-boxes, but this branch had to go live soon and they were desperate.
"Hello, Michael," Truck greeted him warmly.
"Mr. Truck, it is an honor to be offered a spot in your garage," Michael quipped as he extended a hand which Truck shook firmly, dismissing the horrid pun as tension on Michael's part.
"Now," Truck kept his tone even, trying to put the nervous young man at ease, "I'm going to try and make this as easy on you as possible. You aren't nervous, are you?"
"Not at all. You know, they say that job interviews are the only thing worse than first dates," Michael said honestly, "but I really like first dates. I actually have them almost exclusively..."
Though the unintended confession gave Truck pause, he was never one to mix his person impressions of someone with their professional abilities. "Well, Michael, your references are... impressive."
Michael's smile was so wide, Truck thought the top of his head might fall off.
"Your sales numbers, your customer testimonies, and with the glowing recommendations from your past employers," Truck looked up at Michael after examining certain key phrases in the resume, "... I almost can't believe anyone was willing to let you go."
Michael shrugged. "They just want me to go where I'm be most needed."
Truck nodded, it certainly seemed that way, the references practically begged him to hire Scott. He'd think it was suspicious, but the numbers don't lie. "There are still some items in your resume that I was having some trouble understanding," Truck admitted.
"I consider it my duty to purge the world of just such ignorance," Scott said briskly.
Truck choose to ignore the drive to punch Michael in the face and focussed on the issue at hand. "Under 'other information' you wrote that your favorite term for the female pudendum is 'Jenny,'" Michael could not help but snicker while Truck surveyed him coldly, "why would you possibly think that would be relevant to your job?"
"You'll see," Michael replied, straining against barely suppressed laughter.
Truck closed his eyes and counted the years until retirement. "In your reasons for wanting to work in sales," Ed Truck began, eyeing Michael, "you mentioned that you see interaction with your coworkers and the customer as being on the same level as your family." He looked Michael in the eye for the first time. "Do you really believe that?"
"Of course I do," Michael responded as though it were obvious. "What kind of douche do you think I am?" Michael glapsed. "A Summer's Eve?" Then, noticing his potential boss didn't seem to get the joke, Michael changed tactics. "What I mean is, if this company can put that much value on people, and if I can help them, than I can go home very night knowing I'm working for the best company in the world. And I can really be proud of myself and what I can do for that company." Michael paused, evidently thinking this was all very deep. "That's the kind of company I'd be proud to work for the rest of my life.
Ed Truck took a moment to let Michael's passionate words sink in. Silently he asked himself "are they really that desperate?"
Michael loved few things in this world more than making new friends and all of them involved either Robin Williams or Ryan Stiles. He also considered his employees to be his best friends in the world (certainly the friends he saw the most often). Therefore conducting interviews for prospective employees was a rare opportunity for Michael: the chance to screen a new friend.
Michael was less than certain about the potential friend he was currently facing; an impossibly strange entity less a human being than a hybrid between a frog and a fungus. Even his name, "Dwight Schrute," left Michael feeling like he just eaten some bad stroganoff.
"I see your last job with Colbert-Stewart," Michael began. The top line of the "Employment History" section was one of the few things Michael had read of Schrute's thirty-seven page resume, so it seemed like a good enough place to start.
"Let's not dwell on the past," Dwight casually demanded, "we should be focusing on the future of this company," he tented his fingers like a cartoon super-villain. "And I am that future."
"Okay... under the 'references' section," Michael said, examining the resume, "you just put your own name."
Dwight still maintained the reptilian confidence of TV alien. "Why would I need anyone else to speak in favor of me? The name 'Dwight Schrute' on a resume should be enough to ensure any job to anyone."
"Uh-huh..." Michael nodded doubtfully.
Dwight let his smile widen a little, added a twist at the end.
"I took the liberty of calling your last employer," Michael brought his eyes up to face Dwight's, "they said you came into frequent conflicts with nearly all of your coworkers..."
"The price of working with plebeians..." Dwight inserted smugly.
"...the most of recent of which ended with you throwing German potato salad on your desk-mate and calling them..." Michael looked down at the paper to make sure he got the wording right "...'a vagina.'"
"He was," Schrute asserted.
Michael let his eyes widen. His last five meetings with Corporate had all focused on his need to stop judging people based on appearances (which he personally didn't understand since it certainly wasn't a problem for him), but this Schrute scared the hell out of him and there was no way his letting a freak like that be his new best friend. "Well, Dwight, I'm not sure how well you'd fit in this particular orifice..."
Suddenly, Dwight's motionless face exploded into snorting laughter. "'Orifice!'" he repeated, nearly falling out of his chair. "'Orifice!'" His face had become ruddy and his tears and snot were flowing like a river down his face, but Dwight could not stop laughing. "That's the funniest thing I ever heard in my life!"
Michael smiled and held his hand out to Dwight. "Congratulations, Dwight, you've got the job."
If there was one thing Michael Scott knew it was people. He could take one look at a person and know their life story, their sense of humor, and (most importantly) he could gauge their reaction to anything he might say before he said it. It was natural instincts like that had made him such a successful salesman and, ultimately, allowed him to climb the ladder to attain the position of Regional Manager. It was also these same abilities that made interviewing potential new employees such a simple task. So, it goes with out saying that Michael was a bit taken aback when he received the announcement that he wasn't allowed to conduct interviews by himself anymore. But this proved to be one on the times when Corporate simply would not budge, and had been very clear not only that an established employee might provide a valuable sounding board, but also that 'they couldn't take a joke' could scarcely protect the company in a discrimination case.
"Are you good to go?" Michael asked. His employee nodded. Corporate had strongly recommended Toby as the witness, but Michael wasn't going to let that happen. "Send in the first contestant."
The younger man went to the door and called the candidate in while Michael rubbed his hands together in oddly upsetting anticipation. A subtly beautiful young woman dressed with a noticeable lack of flair walked into the room as if she were apologizing.
Michael leapt to his feet. "I suppose you're wondering why I called you here today..." Michael began, putting on his best (and therefore worst) pseudo-detective voice.
The young woman adopted a deer-in-the-headlights look of shocked confusion. "I thought I was here to interview for the receptionist position."
"No, I was..." Michael stumbled to his own defense, deciding instant to become suddenly very interested in her resume. "So, Pamela Beesly."
"That's me," she smiled warmly.
"Pam," he muttered.
"Yeah," she agreed, a bit more cautious this time.
"Pamelita," he annunciated.
"Um," Pam turned to the other man for help, but he seemed just as baffled as she was.
"Pamera versus Zigra," he said finally, "you want to be our new receptionist."
"Well..." Pam began, not so sure anymore.
"Since you'll be the beating heart of this office, I've asked one of my top salesmen to sit in on this interview," Michael gestured to the younger man standing behind him, who raised a hand in greeting. Pam smiled back at him.
"I see you have a recommendation from one of our warehouse guys..." Michael glanced back down at her resume to get the name "...Roy."
Pam nodded with shy pride.
Michael turned to the salesman at his side. "Is Roy the big scary Black guy or the big scary White guy?"
"... Big scary White Guy," the salesman answered, giving Pam wide, apologetic eyes, Pam responded with a slight smile.
"Oh... Roy,' Michael said in obviously feigned recognition. "Good guy."
"Yeah," Pam agreed.
Michael turned his attention back to the resume, which he began to leaf through which such violence that the delicately typed document was soon as crumpled mess. "'College graduate...' blah, 'Workplace experience...' gah, 'Ambitions...' feh."
Again a shocked Pam found herself turning to the salesman for help, earning herself another sympathetic look and a silent assurance that she wasn't the only one who felt out of place.
"Let's get to the real questions here," Michael broke in, "how do you feel about older men with mustaches?"
"Never mind, I'll shave mine off now," if either of them thought Michael was kidding, the electric shaver he brought out his desk drawer seconds later corrected that misconception. Even as large chunks of facial hair fell to the desk blotter, neither Pam nor the other man moved to intervene, partly out of shock, but mostly because Michael had looked completely ridiculous with the mustache.
"Next question," Michael continued once his lip was (largely) exposed, "how do... god, razor burn!" Michael winced. "How do you feel about... argh! That really hurts," he cried, grabbing his now-hairless face in pain. "You don't have any kind of lotion or anything do you?"
Not knowing how else to react, Pam reached into her purse and handed Michael a small tube of cocoa butter hand moisturizer, which he proceeded to squirt out in great globs and rub messily into his face.
"Thanks," Michael said as he buried his face in the fragrant cream, "you girls have no idea how lucky you are, not having to shave."
Pam said nothing, when she turned to her fellow victim and noticed that he had cocked his head to the side and raised an eyebrow. She couldn't help but laugh in response
"Now, that's what we like to hear!" Michael lit up like a Christmas tree. "Loud, boisterous laughter... makes a workplace feel alive." Pam could tell from his tone that Michael believed that the way a lot of people believe in God. "That laugh tells me more about you than any interview or resume possibly could," to illustrate his point, Michael tore to shreds and threw away the resume Pam had spent so many hours perfecting.
"Um... thank... you?" she arched her eyebrows, not knowing how she was supposed to feel.
"Not at all," Michael replied, clearly greeting himself as a liberator, "now, if you would give my associate and I a moment to cactus, we will make our final decision."
The salesman rose to show her out, whispering "I'm really sorry" just quiet enough that only she could hear, Pam gave him another slight smile and sat down on the couch near the entrance.
After the door shut behind her and he felt certain that they were protected by the invisible Cone of Silence, Michael turned to the salesman "What do you think, Jim?
"I think definitely we should hire her," Jim replied with total certainty.
"Me too," Michael said thoughtfully. "She had a nice ass."