Fake It Till You Make It

Everybody calls in sick for the "wrong" reasons* every now and again. We all know how to sound sick over the phone, but do you know how to avoid giving yourself away when you get back to the office? I mean, sure, you could carry a red ink-stained handkerchief balled up in your hand, and cough into it during your staff meeting; or you could keep a nice aromatic bucket of live bait hidden in your cubicle.

In fact, I'm not entirely sure some people in my division aren't already doing this.

But you don't really need to go to such great lengths. All you really have to do is be a little discreet. Here are some common reasons for calling in sick, and the telltale signs to avoid for each.

The exercise class: Well, make sure your breathing has slowed to more or less normal before you come in. And try not to look so damn healthy.

The job interview: Change clothes for the office, but don't overcompensate and show up in cutoffs and flip-flops. Just bring something that you would normally wear to work. If you park in a visible spot, make sure your jacket and tie aren't hanging up in full sight on the passenger side.

The shopping trip: I'm sure I don't need to tell you that your purchases should stay out in your car. If they're perishable, you'll just have to drop them off at home. The thing to look out for is stuffing the receipts into your wallet when you're checking out, because those things can flutter away at importune moments, and they are time-stamped.

The tryst: Towel off as much of the Axe body spray as you can, along with any other substance you may have been sprayed with. Comb your hair, fix your makeup, and make sure your clothes are all right-side out. Try not to look smug.

The weather: Why yes, sometimes it is just too nice out to go to work, and you need to spend the day at the lake, the beach, the park. Or it's ghastly out and you want to stay home in bed with cats and coffee, or watch football in a topless bar all day. Try to avoid going anywhere that your legitimately vacationing coworkers might hang out, and wear plenty of sunscreen. And do a little creative research; I'm sure that glittery skin must be a symptom of something life-threatening.

Lunch: Often not at all your fault, you finally pay your tab and glance at your watch and realize that, due to the crowding of the restaurant and/or the ineptitude of the server, you've now been away from your desk for three full hours. Just claim food poisoning and go home, because trying to explain the truth isn't worth it. You should try to look a little pale and drained when you come in the next day. (Scratch this one if you're at lunch with the boss, but keep in mind that s/he's more likely to pick up the check if you manage to convey a little gastrointestinal distress.)

Then there's the I'm-just-so-plain-sick-of-work-I-can't-face-it-this-morning day, but I cover this last because you don't have to worry too much about looking suspiciously smug, happy or refreshed when you go back in. If you find yourself taking so many of these that your sick time is going down faster than you can accumulate it, you should probably call in sick and go job-hunting.

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*Special note for public employees: If it's near the end of the month and you've already submitted your timesheet, your death constitutes government fraud and can actually get you in a lot of trouble, so you should probably avoid it.

Ode to Nyquil

O azure-hued elixir of the damned,
How like a wad of wool you've made my brain;
And set my heart to flutter in my breast,
Its palpitations shattering my rest;
My head with visions of disquiet crammed,
My body weak as cardboard in the rain.

How like a zombie from an open grave
I stumbled toward your lying boasts of might!
And, measuring with care the little cup,
I drank the nasty-tasting fluid up.
But, sleep then craving, even more I crave
This morning, after such a restless night

That "Death warmed over" sounds a decent meal
Compared to how I climbed out of my bed:
Death taken from the fridge, and slopped
Into a pan, then someone stopped
And left Death therein to congeal
And, sensibly, had cold pizza instead.

I pour the noisome remnants in the sink;
I'll trust myself to time's all-healing force;
For blue and icky is the nasty swill
That sickens further the already ill;
I'll back to bed, and broth and water drink;
The cold will pass: let nature run its course.

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I'll never get a job writing ad copy.

Caroling

Not this year, perhaps. My throat feels like someone drove a freight train through it.*

Of course the Friday right before the Christmas holidays is the most suspicious possible day to call in sick. I'm certain the panicmonger supervisor thought I was faking, so it's a good thing nobody invited her to happy hour. One of my coworkers was there. "I just had one of those 8-hour bugs," I told him.

Alas! how sharp the teeth of Karma, in your ass...

Some local real estate agent made the rounds of the neighborhood last week, dropping off poinsettias on everyone's doorstep. What a sucker! We're renting. But as far as I'm concerned he might as well have given me a puppy. What do I do with this? I already have so many plants, and all crowded indoors, too; and with the Christmas tree, dropping needles all over the place, there's hardly space to move in the living room. Next year? Smaller tree.

Fortunately over the next few days I'll get the chance to spread out a bit: Jim and the girls are going to San Antonio for Christmas, and leaving Eric and me here - since Eric has to be in truancy court again on the 27th. I'd have a party, but almost all my friends are out of town (sigh). But at least I can get some cleaning done.

It's too early in the morning for wassail, isn't it?

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*Diane, get your mind out of the gutter

Important Distinction

Me coughing all night: Very pathetic and deserving of the most tender sympathy and pampering. Would somebody please bring me some hot tea with honey in it? Oh! my aching throat!

Everybody else in the house, sick with the same bug, coughing all night: Incredibly annoying. Will you people shut up already? I can't sleep with all this noise. Can't you see I'm convalescing here?

People can be so amazingly self-centered.

I Don't Get Paid to Write This

Okay, my virtual friends, I need some help here.

My coworkers and I planned the October and November safety meetings with great success. In October we did rail safety. We had someone from the Federal Railroad Administration come in and do a presentation on how to stay off the railroad tracks, you dumbass, don't you know there's a train coming?!

Then he gave us all key rings.

In November we did weather hazards. Jim Spencer from KXAN Weather did a presentation how not to get sucked up by tornadoes, struck by lightning, or drowned in floodwaters. One of my coworkers knows him, and he very generously agreed to come and speak for us - at the ungodly hour of 8am, too. Wasn't that nice of him?

All that's left to do is December, and for December I was going to have the snake guy. To recap quickly, the snake guy was going to be really cool, but my supervisor freaked out a little bit and managed to get the Legal Department to refuse to tell us in writing that his presentation (which he gives for elementary schools by the way) didn't constitute a workplace hazard, so we couldn't go ahead with it and now I have nothing. December was supposed to be the best one, too.

I tentatively have "holiday safety" set as the topic. But I'm drawing a blank. I have no one lined up and no ideas here. I'm supposed to have all the information for the official memo to go out by Monday. What do I do?!? Help!!!

I'm so stressed out about it, I had to call in sick.

I Can Has Coffee?

I'm sick of work, I can't keep going on,
Not a lick of work, if I stay, will get done,
So I must go home, or nowhere,
'Cause I'm sick of work...

I've locked my desk, I'll keep my printouts there,
I have stocked my desk with data dictionaire,
And I'll leave it there till Monday,
'Cause I'm sick of work.

The panicked boss, why must she be crazed?
Don't have profit/loss, and no deadlines ablaze;
I'm feeling stymied, and I need a raise,
Not endless freaking and shrieking from her.

Goodbye, my cube, and all its beige decor,
I won't train the n00bs on mainframe anymore,
And I'm out the door for the day,
'Cause I'm sick of work,
Yeah, baby, I'm sick of work.

There's never a white baby grand around when you need one.

The panicmonger boss told Robbie today that from now on she wants us all to stagger our breaks, and not go as a group. She wants to cut off the flow of martinis.

What. Ev. Er!

We had a celebration for the September birthdays this morning, organized by one of the three new people, and chipped in for by most of the group. There were balloons and cards and gift certificates and food. We've never done this before. To be perfectly honest, I really don't care for office potluck-type things, but that's beside the point. It was pleasant; the woman who put it together is a sweet, sociable, organize-y type and clearly enjoys doing nice things for people. The panicmonger has been talking for months about how she wanted to do a monthly birthday celebration, but everybody was always kind of lukewarm about it. The point is that the panicmonger has always wanted this, and she finally has someone who's happy to do it.

The panicmonger walked into the organizer's office this afternoon and doled out criticism and some suggestions for how to do a better job of it next time. She forgot to say, oh gosh I don't know, how about something like "thank you, our group has not done this before and it was really nice of you to volunteer to take this on, and incidentally the spice cake is delicious."

The panicmonger did something else particularly shitty that I'm not at liberty to go into; it wasn't done to me. I had the good sense to go home sick at 10:30. I hadn't had my coffee.

Morning Sickness

Around 5 a.m., I awoke from a vivid dream that I had just found out I was pregnant. Timing is a bit muddled in dreams. For one thing, it's odd that I was only just finding out as I was beginning to feel the baby move. For another thing, if my last sexual encounter had knocked me up, you'd think the diapers and 3 a.m. feedings would have tipped me off some time ago.

My alarm went off just as I was getting back to sleep, and I was agonizingly tired, and I don't want to go to work, and I haven't taken a sick day in a month or so. I got up to compose an email to the panicmonger. "I'm sick (cough, cough)," I wrote.

The joke's on her, because I moved my car back into the break spot before riding my bike home yesterday.

But now, of course, I'm wide awake. Maybe I'll go shopping. I could use a pair of these:

They're perfectly safe. I have an IUD!

Sick of Work

Jobs are just like men, I wailed to my friend b.r. today. You can never get the one you want, while the ones you don't want are slobbering on your neck and trying to get a hand up your skirt.

Since updating my resume on Monster.com a couple of weeks ago, I think I need to get a restraining order against the insurance sales industry.

Sara's off, she who's wearing the John Deere cap in yesterday's clip-art masterpiece. She gave notice by presenting her boss with a sheet cake decorated with a map of Colorado, a flag with her initials indicating the location of her new home. Isn't that magnificent? I think that officially outclasses all you "I'll-give-notice-in-the-form-of-a-clever-haiku-no-just-kidding-not-really" LOOOOOO-sers! The cake might make a bit of a mess, filed with her exit paperwork; but the gesture is as good-humored as it is grand. We'll miss Sara.

The most productive thing I've done today is go to Goodwill to get a bike, but they were all out. Instead I picked up a cat condo - you know, one of those carpet-covered plywood things with all the little platforms and cubbyholes. I figured the cats needed an outlet for all that excess energy.

Cats don't need a job to be sick of work. They're born that way.