8:03 AM: I just remembered Gordon Ramsay will be out of the office all week. Monday = Improved.
8:30 AM: Also brightening this Monday: baked goods from Roseanne Barr. She made gigantic sugar cookies and some coconut cream cups. She knows I don’t like the texture of coconut, so she made one special for me without any coconut mixed in or sprinkled on the top. Roseanne Barr spoils me and I wish I got that same type of treatment at home.
9:40 AM: I just got stuck walking behind Mrs. O’Leary. She does everything very slowly (except curse out her family members), so when I get stuck in the hallway behind her, it’s one of those situations where you could speed up and ask her to move aside, but you’d feel like a dick. So instead, I walk behind her at a safe distance while I think that if I ever find myself in a situation where this is as fast as I can walk, someone just puts me out of my misery. Readers, you have my permission.
10:25 AM: Went to the kitchen to get water. Two women were in there chit chatting about the weather. They don’t immediately surround my desk, so they’re new characters to the blog. For the purpose of this story, let’s call them Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumb…
Tweedle Dee: It started off at 50 degrees and now it’s up to 80.
Tweedle Dumb: Ugh. It was so nice this morning.
Tweedle Dee: I know. I walked outside and thought “Oh, this is nice!”
Tweedle Dumb: But now it’s getting hot again. I hate these 80’s and 90’s. It’s the worst.
Tweedle Dee: Yeah, me too! I wish it was just 70 and sunny for like five months every year.
Tweedle Dumb: Or the whole year! That would be perfect.
Tweedle Dee: Well, I’m realistic, so I wouldn’t expect that…
No, bitch. If you were realistic, you wouldn’t expect the midwest to have five months of perfect weather. Move to San Diego.
10:30 AM: Now Phyllis and Carson Kressley are talking…
Phyllis: Burger King announced that they’re selling chicken fries covered in Cheetos.
Carson Kressley: I haven’t been to a Burger King in about 10 years. What exactly is a chicken fry?
Phyllis: It looks like a stick.
Carson Kressley: You mean, like a chicken finger, but in the shape of a fry?
Phyllis: Yeah, I guess so. Imagine the orange dust on your fingers. On kids’ fingers. What a nightmare.
Carson Kressley: On a related note, I hate when people eat while they’re driving. They’re touching everything in the car and eating with their hands. It’s disgusting. Just go eat in the restaurant!
(Hey Mr. Prissy Pants, ever heard of hand sanitizer?)
Phyllis: Yeah… you only have two hands. And you’re making a mess all over the car.
(Phyllis clearly eats in the car.)
Carson Kressley: But even worse than that, it’s just so unsafe. It’s just as bad as texting while driving.
(If I were participating in this conversation, I’d tell them about how I was driving with my knee and dipping my Popeyes chicken fingers in my Blackened Ranch cup while driving on the interstate last weekend because I DGAF.)
Phyllis (really doubling down on this eating in the car thing): You know, I was at a craft fair and I saw this adult bib-sort-of-thing where you snap it around your neck and it catches all the crumbs if you’re eating and driving. I wasn’t sure if I should be impressed or…
Carson Kressley: Horrified! That should not exist. It’s just putting everyone else in danger.
And now I know what to get Phyllis for Christmas…
11:08 AM: There’s an update on Roseanne Barr’s report to HR. Apparently the person who reported her didn’t report her because she herself is loud, but because she has friends who come over and talk to her. It’s those conversations that are bothering the unknown complainer.
My Theory: It was Carson Kressley. Roseanne Barr doesn’t like him and doesn’t offer him any of the baked goods she cooks because he’s a sourpuss who reports people to HR. People come to Roseanne Barr’s cubicle for the baked goods and stay to chat. Carson Kressley isn’t invited. Roseanne Barr is like Damien in Mean Girls, “Mrs. O’Leary, be sure to get a cookie!… America Ferrara, I have lemon bars over here!… Ellen Page, I put an extra mini pound cake in a bag for you to take home to your girlfriend… AND NONE FOR CARSON KRESSLEY.”
12:34 PM: Grace, sitting in her cubicle looking at her computer, groaned and said out loud, “Hrmmmm. What do we have here?” She didn’t expect an answer.
1:02 PM: Someone washed out a deli meat bag and is using the faucet in the kitchen as a drying rack, presumably so the bag can be reused. Like, is this sanitary? What if that was full of ham and someone else in the office is Kosher? I am tempted to put a $5 bill in it with a note saying, “Walk across the street and buy yourself a box of Ziplocs. On me.”
1:15 PM: This is turning out to be a very active day. Mrs. O’Leary was changing her shoes and getting ready to go outside for some smokes. Her desk phone rang. It was the Nice Old Lady who works in reception. She had a phone call to transfer to Mrs. O’Leary…
Hello, Nice Old Lady. Yeah. No. No. That’s not for me. If it’s someone who is already in the process, that should go to [NAME]. Yes. Send it to [NAME]. Okay. Bye.
Mrs. O’Leary then slammed down the phone and said, “Fuckin’ fuck.” as she finished changing her shoes for her smoke(s) break.
3:20 PM: Roseanne Barr stood up and said “Always a good time.” No idea what she was talking about, but when I looked at her and asked what she was talking about, she quieted down to a whisper and said, “Oh, wait. I may have said that too loud. I better watch myself.” while she stared daggers in Carson Kressley’s direction. Things are getting heated and I’m thrilled to be in the middle of it.