There are 2 kinds of jobs.
The first kind of job allows you to take a sick-day with no strings attached. I had one of these jobs once. It was a government job. I made Chinese kites with inner-city children. Enough said.
The second kind of job requires that you endure some kind of ethical dilemna every time you fall ill. Quandaries like, "I can't move my left arm and I am completely encased in a gelatinous layer of my own perspiration but...I can't let my coworkers down either". This sentence goes hand-in-hand with adulthood. Those of us with careers in the private sector may find ourselves in a place very foreign from our college days. Remember oversleeping and missing Art History after an impromptu bender at that club up the street with the tacky cover band. You still made a C. Not the end of the world. The bright ones bought an alarm clock with their cap and gowns and took that first step toward grownupdom. Our primary contractual obligation to our grown-up employer was that we would go to work and be on time. Not ridiculously difficult.
But then things get weird. I'm not sure if it is a macho thing or just JimJonesian loyalty, but nobody around you gets sick. The ones that do ALWAYS blame it on allergies. All the sudden there is this pressure to at least keep pace. You are part of an steel-clad profit machine that is NOT in the business of letting anyone down. You are efficient. You are faithful. You are BODACIOUS...but you're not. A 3-day cold lingers for a month. You are grumpy because you don't sleep, and your baby coughs all night, and you wife tosses and turns, and you can't breath through EITHER nostril, and you have CRAZY fever dreams about Chris Matthews repeating the word "macaca" over and over again.
Thanksgiving is almost here. That's good, right?
Recent Comments