Sick Days

I have come to expect that any assistant of mine will take sick days when he's feeling perfectly well.  Assistants are loathe to use vacation days, God knows why.  They're like squirrels saving nuts.  So instead of coming to me the day or week before and politely asking if they can use one of their two thousand vacation days, they sit on their hands until the day in question and call in "sick".  Usually on a Friday.

But it's fine.  I am a man of realistic - some would even say limited - expectations.  All I ask is that a person inform me of their "sickness" by 9:00am and cough a little when they're back in the office to maintain the charade.

At first I thought you understood these implicit rules.  You played by them so well.  You called in sick - on a Friday of course. You whispered convincingly, as though the pain of your illness was almost too much to speak through.  I liked that touch, and told you to feel better.

But then Monday, I heard one of the girls in the cube farm sneeze.  And then cough.  And then sneeze again.  Frankly, it was irritating, because can't any of you take a sick day when you're actually sick?  I went over to tell her to leave for the day.

"But it's just allergies," she told me.  "I get really bad allergies, but I haven't been sick in a really long time."

"Me neither," you chimed in, poking your head over the cube wall.  "I never get sick."

I stared at you.

"It's true," you assured me.  "I never get sick, I can't remember the last time I was sick."

It was a gaffe of enormous proportions, made worse by the fact that you stood there grinning at me, expecting some sort of praise or show of astonishment at your indefatigable health.  Had you forgotten you had called out sick?  What mechanisms were working in your brain?

It was too much to sift through, so I turned, went back to my office and shut the door, leaving you looking hurt at my refusal to acknowledge your incredible immune system.

Drinking with Colleagues

There's something about waking up hungover and finding that five of your colleagues have friended you on Facebook.  It feels good but also bad, and then you vomit.

Going for drinks with the office used to mean letting loose a little, letting your hair down, maybe making out with the hot chick you're always seeing by the copier.  Now it's all fear and side glances while you remind yourself not to mention how much you hate the company, or the whole industry really, or maybe even just the world.

But then you do.  You mention all of it.  I mean really, you spend thirty plus years training your body to think it's okay to do whatever the fuck it wants once some liquor is in it and then suddenly you're expected to maintain your professional integrity while bonding with the team over tequila.  It's ridiculous!

You can take a certain solace in your friend requests the next morning, but it's a mixed bag - you've achieved a certain popularity within the team, but also a greater likelihood of being fired.