Bars of onion rings, a lock of ketchup

I had the odd experience the other day of feeling trapped in a lunch that I couldn't wait to get out of. This may not surprise many people upfront, except that my lunch was with Ethan and Steve (they were fine), two Bates-Clark medalists (for the best economist under 40), one of whom also has won the McArthur genius grant, and a nobel prize winner in economics. Lunchtime conversation was definitely at a higher level than normal, with little to no contribution from the three of us in the peanut gallery. Fascinating, but all I could think of was how I was trying to make up two hours of missed time and that the computer labs all closed at five, meaning the only way was to take a short lunch or work on the weekend. I figured (as lunch ticked slowly past the hour mark) that I could probably, without offense, excuse myself since I was the only hourly-paid employee at the table and everyone there (to my knowledge) had had that experience and could sympathize. But I lacked the courage to speak up - the last lunch I voiced an opinion ended up with my pathetically limited knowledge on the topic being battered into the ground (once bitten, twice shy) - so there I sat, trying not to fidget or shred my napkin or roll my eyes or look at my watch. I got out after ninety minutes. The reason I was two hours behind already was from a lunch the week before. I wonder why I worry about these things - I could just write down two fewer hours on my timecard this week. Emily isn't holding me to a set schedule and at this point I am sure to finish the project before I leave, possibly even by next week if I keep up my full-time travails, so there is no real reason to worry, no real need to be present every hour of the workday. I still worry somehow that that's cheating, that I'm slacking, that my work ethic isn't enough. Like Sue said so fatefully, six years ago, that I have no drive. No ambition. That would be worse than being two hours behind.