March has turned out to be the busy month at the new job -- in addition to the usual slate of lectures and exhibition related events, we're hosting a few different outside groups (one of which involves the kind of people the acronym VIP was created for), several international visitors, and the final candidates for next year's graduate class are here for interviews (we only take two new students a year and it's fully funded with no teaching assignments so it's extremely competitive). Oh, and the housekeeper needed two days off to move so Guess Who was in charge of tea and coffee?

Then there were exchanges like this:
Exhibitions Coordinator: Um, where's the library rug?
My Officemate: In the library?
EC: You'd think ...but no.

The rug turned out to be in the lecture hall, rolled up on a cart, which was where it had been left by our architect after he apparently tried to move it to the office of the woman who controls most of our funding (hereafter referred to as She)and found it didn't fit. Why he didn't 1)put it back in the library or 2)tell someone he had stashed it in the lecture hall has yet to be determined.

Anyway, all this might explain why, when I got home today (Friday) I discovered a smashed glass on the floor of the living room ... and suddenly remembered hearing a living room-adjacent crashing noise while I was trying to go to sleep. On Tuesday night. I have been in and out of that room multiple times in three days without either noticing the glass or impaling the sole of my foot on a sliver, despite the mess being only inches from my usual path on and off the couch. Honestly, sometimes I'm amazed they let me live by myself.