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If Tom weren’t 98% sure Ron — the real Ron, not the Ron Tom has suddenly found himself trapped inside of — would actually kill him, the mustache would have been gone as soon as Tom stopped freaking out. The thing is, it’s really hard to eat sushi with a mustache. It’s even harder to eat it slowly and carefully enough when April keeps peering in the office windows at him with her eyebrows all weird and scary.
Ron hadn’t shown up to work when Tom got there and after a brief moment where Tom forgot all about the fact he’d woken up in Ron Swanson’s bed (weird sheets, pillows that felt like rocks, and not a single pair of Hanes comfort underwear or a hint of silk anywhere) and went and sat at his regular desk across from Leslie while most of the office stared at him.
Ron’s office is pretty cool, though, with the robotic doors and the epic amount of weaponry Tom has already discovered hidden in the desk. They are totally set for the eventual Pawnee obese zombie apocalypse.
Anyway, eating the sushi he’d ordered for lunch is proving super difficult. Tom has gotten to appreciate his own dainty hands, perfect for massaging hot ladies necks at bars (and other places, if by chance they don’t throw a drink at/near him right after he starts — he gives great massages, most of them never give him a chance, their loss. Jean-Ralphio thinks his neck massages are the bomb-massagigity, and even wrote a rap about them once, so Tom knows he’s good.)
He finally figures out a way to eat at least the California rolls, tipping them at an angle and opening Ron’s gigantic mouth fast enough that nothing clings and he’s feeling pretty proud of himself (but also still hungry, and he’s not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing, normally he has a very sensitive system and fills up quickly, this whole eating half a platter of expensive sushi with room for the rest leaves more choices on the table, awesome).
The next few bites of his sushi (minus the obvious staring of everyone in the department as they walk toward April’s desk in increasing frequency) are really enjoyable once he gets the perfect eating angle and motion down, so perfect, in fact, that he completely misses the commotion in the main part of the department right up until he hears a girlish sort of yell (Jerry, probably) and then Donna yelling something that sounds like “Put down that axe before you hurt yourself, boy.”
And then: “I am perfectly capable of wielding an axe, woman, calm yourself!” in a voice that Tom definitely recognizes because it’s his own voice except pitched more aggressively than usual. Kinda neat, actually, Tom will have to practice that once this weirdness is over.
It takes a few seconds for him to realize he should probably worry about Ron Swanson presumably inside his body currently coming toward his office door with an axe. Tom is not going to die in Ron Swanon’s body because there is a specific clause in his current will that demands he be buried (or frozen with Jean-Ralphio when that’s an option) in a suit cut to the most current fashion. He’s hoping a pimping metallic space suit will be in style when he dies a hundred years from now, but if he dies now Ron’s body will definitely not look good in Tom Ford and nobody will one will want to cry at his funeral because they’ll be appalled and maybe he should have shaved off the stupid mustache.
The door to the office bangs open after a few loud noises because apparently Tom’s body does not possess the strength Ron is used to and it gives Tom time to try and hide under the desk, even though Ron’s body doesn’t really fit that well.
“Tom Haverford, you have twelve seconds to explain why I woke up in woman-smelling fancy sheets this morning to an incessant beeping noise coming from four or five things I had to smash to stop,” Ron says. Or Tom’s voice, at least. It’s kind of confusing. Maybe Tom will be awesome at impressions of Ron after they switch bodies back. If that happens.
“Uh,” he says, from under the desk. He’d had that weird dream about marrying Tammy One, except when she lifted up her veil she had Ron’s mustache, and Tom isn’t really sure about the logistics or physics or whatever of waking up in another dude’s body, but he’s not going to share the dream if he doesn’t have to.
A piece of sushi drops to the floor near Tom’s head.
“You also have ten seconds to explain why you’d put tiny fish pieces into my body without my permission,” Ron says.
Ron’s feet wouldn’t fit in any of Tom’s best shoes for a funeral, either, so there is no way Tom is dying. “Because it’s delicious and awesome,” he says from under the desk. It’s kind of cool to hear what Ron sounds like in scared-for-his-life-mode. Cool, but also terrifying. “You should try some! And not kill me and stuff.”
There is a high-pitched grunt (Ron-as-Tom) and then a clunk (the axe on the desk? Somewhere not Tom’s head, at least, which is good) and then a considering noise.
“Disgusti— huh,” Ron says. Tom waits a few seconds before peeking his head over the top of the desk, mostly because Ron’s body is not meant to curl up for this long.
“Try another one! What do you think?” he encourages. From this position he can see most of the office peaking in the doorway. April looks horrified, Andy looks like Christmas came early, and everyone else mostly looks confused.
“Not horrible,” Ron answers eventually. There’s a sudden flash of light just as Tom goes to grab a piece of leftover sushi and Ron slaps his hand away.
Tom kind of feels bad that he’s back in his own body, but he doesn’t get to feel bad for long.
“Oh, hell no,” Jerry says, with his arms raised in the air. Everyone turns to stare at him as he turns on Donna. “You give me my body back right now, Jerry, or I’ll —“
“This is awesome,” Andy says. “Who do I get to turn into?”
Tom kind of hopes Andy gets to switch bodies with Chris at some point, but he doesn’t bother to voice that because the sushi is laying untouched and his regular body is much more suited to eating it than Ron’s.