Work is incredibly and excitingly stressful these days. I work at a non-profit theater company and our annual show is about to open this weekend. It's like Waiting for Guffman on crack right now. In the midst of all this, my boss decided to create herself a Gmail account. Actually, she decided to create two of them. And once created, she had no idea what her username or password was. Not a clue.
Yesterday, she was in a panic to access her accounts, so I walked over to her corner of the office and attempted to help while looking over her shoulder. Finally, I couldn't take it anymore. Her panic was contageous and really, I could do it faster. She stood up and I sat down, furiously typing away to try and reset her passwords, etc.
"Beth, oh my God! I have to get into this account!"
"I know, I know. We'll figure it out."
She stood behind me, muttering possible passwords as Gmail asked me various security questions.
"Sara, um...what was the name of your childhood guinea pig?"
She paused, stared down at me and look at me like I was nuts.
In a tone implying that I had asked something obvious, like if the earth was round or what month it was, she deadpanned, "Livingston."
I'm sorry. What?
I couldn't help myself. I lost it. For all of the tension and stress and frustration and panic, with phones ringing and over-scheduled meetings, my boss had furiously entered the name of her pet rodent when setting up her accounts. And now she was screaming it at me. It was the funniest possible answer to the question, "What was the name of your childhood guinea pig?"
I typed in Livingston. Access granted...