"Is that my mug?" asked Luke, peering at me.
"I don't know," I said. I was carefully weighing up the probability of me knowing the answer, versus the probability of him knowing. It took half a second.
The other half of the second was used to process what to do about this escalating conflict.
"I just pulled it out of the cupboard," I said, innocently. It is true - as far as I know, that is the form: mugs in the cupboard are kind of free-for-all.
Well it is Luke's mug, of course. Looking at it, I wouldn't have chosen it: it's got two cartoon characters sticking up their middle fingers at each other and the message underneath reads: Peace Among Worlds. I don't really get it.
"Look, don't worry," I said, putting on my most concerned face, "I'll wash it up and get it back to your desk."
He smiled, said, "Okay, cool, thanks," and skipped back to his desk.
What's happened here of course, is that on Friday, Luke left this mug out and the cleaners whisked it off, pushed it through the dishwasher and then put it back in the cupboard like they do with every mug they find at the end of the day. It's not a big deal though, really, is it? I mean they actually smashed mine some time ago and I've been fishing in the cupboard for free-for-all mugs ever since.
Still, the conflict is easily sorted, right? I mean there's always room for 'peace among worlds.'
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