It’s been a busy, stressful week in Cube Land. I’m standing at the photocopier, trying to convince it to stop beeping and get back to spitting out my copies so I can get to yet another meeting on time. There’s a line forming behind me. Unhelpful Man says something about toner, even as I’m loading an empty, beep-inducing tray with legal paper. Unhelpful Woman asks if I’ve noticed that the hem has fallen out of one of my pants cuffs.

"Of course," I say, and she takes it as a response to her question.