Tonight is my division's annual meeting, which I'm unofficially required to attend. (I had to RSVP for the event, even though we're all supposed to go.) Perhaps you remember when I had to trek across the street in the cold to get my picture taken to celebrate my "new" employment about a month ago (even though at that point I had been here for six months)? Well, that lovely picture of me standing in front of a beige wall, probably looking washed-out and undead, will be featured in a PowerPoint presentation, during which I will most likely have the opportunity to stand and have all of my (hopefully future former) co-workers gawk at me.
The meeting is two hours. Two hours of hearing people tell me stuff that I don't understand and, coincidentally(!!!), don't care about. And even though it's at the University Club, which is like a country club without the country, and there's a two-hour open bar following the meeting, I'm really not excited about it. That's how bad it's gotten here, people. Free alcohol no longer entices me.
Even though I'm not taking advantage of my thirty-six hundred dollars in free tuition (which, I've learned, is equivalent to about five dollars worth of knowledge and thirty dollars spent on pain killers), the idea of five to eight plastic cups of Ecco Domini doesn't particularly sound like a good time, especially since it'll involve me standing around awkwardly chatting with people I don't really know very well, despite the fact that I see them more often than my friends. If I am pressured to stay for the reception, I can only hope that someone gets drunk and I have something to giggle about tomorrow morning.
Or maybe some of my co-workers will get denied admission based on the dress code, which seems likely. Oh, God, how I really hope someone at the club has to explain that cargo pants and Vans are not exactly "business attire."