Day #714

8:12 AM: A woman from a few cubicles over can’t log in to her computer this morning, so she came to Roseanne Barr for help…

Woman: Good morning. I can’t log in. Are you able to help me?

Roseanne Barr: You didn’t change your password when it told you to, did you?

Woman: I’m trying to change it now.

Everyone in the company received a warning every day for 10 days to change your password.

Woman: Well, I’m trying to change the password, but it’s saying there’s an issue with the clock and the server.

Roseanne Barr: Ugh. Okay. Let me see.

The woman then went back to her desk to try to change her password and the rest of this conversation was held by yelling across 6 cubicles to each other…

Woman: Roseanne, I tried putting the new password in, but it wouldnt let me.

Roseanne Barr: Well, try the old password.

Woman: I did and that’s didnt work either.

Roseanne Barr: Rat bastard. Okay. Let me try to reset it manually.

Roseanne Barr yelled “rat bastard” out loud across 6 cubicles before 8:15 AM. Gonna be a good Monday.

12:42 PM: I wasn’t paying attention to a conversation happening between Roseanne Barr and Mrs. O’Leary, but I heard Mrs. O’Leary say, “I can’t do any kind of knitting or crocheting. I’m nothing.”

1:48 PM: Our mail room guy brought over a large box to my desk, which contained a storage container for some equipment.

Phyllis saw the giant box and asked “Are those shoes from Zappos?” and chuckled.


1:50 PM: Mrs. O’Leary is talking to Roseanne Barr about her Thanksgiving plans…

I have to make the turnip. I always make the turnips. Every year. And then because I was looking at the list of things people are making and no one is making sweet potatoes. My mother always made sweet potatoes. Why wouldn’t we make sweet potatoes? So I volunteered to do it, but I’ve never made them in my life.

My sister is making some corn souffle. You know, it’s got all this crap in it. What’s wrong with a good old can of corn that you just open up and heat up?

My other sister, instead of just making a vegetable, she’s making a soup. You know, it can’t be something simple like green beans. No. Instead, it’s like squash soup. Butternut squash. I’m like “I’m not gonna eat that. You guys are killing me. Dang.”

I heard a very similar conversation last year when Mrs. O’Leary talked about making turnips every Thanksgiving for decades. She doesn’t seem like much of a cook, so I feel sorry for her nieces and nephews who were forced to eat a serving of Mrs. O’Leary’s turnips every year. “But Mom, I don’t want Aunt O’Leary’s turnips. They’re burnt on the outside, but somehow still raw on the inside.”




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