Monday, December 10, 2012

FIRST! (Featuring TMI and Bad Language.)

I'm home sick today. This is noteworthy only because of my husband. You see, my husband does not believe in calling in sick. If you call in sick, you are weak, you are a liability to your coworkers, you are bad, and you should feel bad. Also, it is not fair that he always goes to work, no matter what, thus generating a paycheck, while certain other persons think that a little 105 degree fever, or non-stop diarrhea that makes sleeping on the bathroom floor seem convenient, makes it ok to take days off work willy-nilly, thus losing a day's pay. You should understand here that "willy-nilly" can be taken to mean "two, MAYBE three days a year." I suppose that if one has worked for nearly seven years at a place and never called in sick, never even been late, one can see two or three call-ins a year as shamelessly indulgent.  However, one would also have to see himself as batshit insane, because seriously.

So yeah, my husband is not quite on-kilter when it comes to these things. This is a man who (according to him) "sprained his ankle" one day at work. In actuality, he broke something. Somewhere in his foot/ankular region, there is a small bone or tendon that bears the scars of being snapped in two. I have no proof of this, though,  as he refused to go to a doctor, because he would have to miss work to do so. Given the fact that his lower leg and foot swelled to a size never before nor since seen in a human appendage, and turned colors that would have freaked out Van Gogh, I'm sticking with my theory. He walked on this foot, fortheloveof, despite all that, not that he was cheerful about it. That was a long three weeks, my god.

I, however, am normal and healthy, at least when it comes to just how dedicated I can be to the concept of perfect attendance. What is not normal and healthy is my fear of bowel movements in public restrooms, and given that I am afraid of being more than six running steps from the bathroom today, and given that I had approximately one hour last night wherein I was actually in my bed, and given that my office is about one hundred feet from the bathroom and the bathroom has two stalls, VERY CLOSE TOGETHER, and is therefore NOT PRIVATE, I decided that I was not going. Also, my tolerance for stupid questions dips to non-measurable levels when I am tired, and a regular workday for me generally contains at least six stupid questions. I had a burst of productivity on Friday and got ahead of several projects, and my officemate can handle anything that comes in, assuming it can't wait til tomorrow, which, anything that comes in today can wait for tomorrow, so she'll be alright. Over the last two years,  "A" (I'll come up with a real pseudonym for her later) and I have trained most of our clients to believe that Monday is the very worst day to give us something, and since that message got out, Mondays have gone much smoother for us, and clients are accustomed to Monday work drops not being ready until mid-day Tuesday.

Also, my boss calls in about once a month, so glass houses and all of that.

I like to gripe about it, but I do kind of see where he comes from. He owned his own business for several years, pre-me, and when you are the boss and the employee, you have to be there. In his current job, he runs a crew of  nine guys and seven trucks and knows who is rolling which truck, on which route, with which partner, and with which product/parts/tools, for several days in advance. When a guy calls in, it screws everything up. And a guy calls in almost every week. And customers do not give a single fuck about you being shorthanded the day they wanted to get their widget delivered/installed/fixed, and will refuse to allow said service to be rescheduled. So I get that he has a deep-seated hatred of the person who can't suck it up and screws over his/her coworkers. I just really wish he'd get over it, or failing that, make an exception for the person who sleeps naked and pressed against him every night.

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