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Dear majors and minors, the _______ department picnic is this Saturday! Come join us for food, fun, rousing conversation and games! Hm. Nope. No Oxford Comma. Can’t cope with that crowd. Looks like I’m not going.

Department picnics are always a little uncomfortable, so uncomfortable in fact, that I’ve never been to one. They send my irrational fear compass spinning like no other. I mean, does anyone actually want to make small talk while their physics professor cooks hamburgers with a magnifying glass and the sun? No, not unless your psych professor has already harvested your frontal lobe for an experiment. Maybe it’s just me, but as far as I’m concerned, too many surreptitious intentions are hiding under the veil of a ‘picnic’ and, more simply, too many things could go wrong. Here’s a few to start:

1. George Foreman is the only person you have to talk to. Why yes George, I do prefer charcoal over propane. Brings me back, ya know? How long have you been in the department closet? Ah, yes four years. I’ve been here three. Having a lot of sex lately? No? The only thing you put out is fire? Hm. Continue reading →