-Happy Hour, Happy Hornbook-

Hard to believe some co-workers have invited me to Happy Hour. This is the first time I've been invited to a Happy Hour planned a day in advance, or more than an hour in advance - but I've been in academia for a while, so what do I know? By now, I imagine that shared toil has all but eliminated that "new temp" smell.

Sides have been chosen for me.

That is your table in the lunchroom if you want conversation, and that is your mug. That is your overhead lamp. He hates you because he liked to raid that desk for stationary before you got here. Yes, you had no choice in the arrangement, and yes, he still reaches over you to steal sharpies, but now he has to mumble "scuse me" as you roll back in your knockoff M505 model desk chair to avoid accidental groping, and for that he hates yourself like seppuku.

She doesn't hate me, she just doesn't get my humor.

Back to the social butterflies in my stomach - I feel I should prepare for this planned Happy Hour.

Should I dye my shoes?