I feel like I’ve been pulled out of a top hat, I’m as sharp as a deep fried pizza with pills in my guts and a head full of impact adhesive. I’m male, I am with cold.
It started yesterday afternoon quite suddenly, first the odd throat, sudden fatigue and the feeling that ones blood has been replaced by anti-freeze, until I had the same basic symptoms as Myfwt’s. I pretended I was just fine, it was okay, I’ll just shake it off cycling home, I thought, which I attempted with gusto. Though I didn’t shake anything off and was required to sit in my leather armchair on arrival feeling all pale and needy. Like a girl on the blob, but without the ferocious spontaneous temper and default moaning.
Myfwt was back by 6.30, her cold was on the way out but the sight of my creamy face inspired her to have a relapse after she’d taken a bath and eaten. Oddly, I was feeling a little bit better, possibly due to excellent Beaujolais and a splendid carpet picnic, allow me to indulge…Gather together various picnic components, ham, cheese, salad, pork pies, hummus, cold sausages, crisps, nuts, varieties of bread, coleslaw, cucumber, mayo, mustard et al and dump on the floor, in bowls/plates etc., then eat randomly at whatever pace you desire.
By the end of the evening I was feeling all right and she was feeling rank. I thought I’d beaten the shitting malaise but the huge cough up at 2 am proved otherwise. It was as if someone had implanted a leaking silicon breast in the back of my throat, and I was required to sit virtually upright to avoid drowning in my own phlegm.
I awoke this morning feeling like the underside of John McCririck penis, sweaty and angry-red but fully aware that I still had to go to fucking work. I’m on fucking deadline again so here I bloody well am. I really should be in bed, or at least crouched over myself in the darkest corner of my flat emptying my clockweights.
The policy in the office of being ill doesn’t suit me one bit, nor is it logical. The MD’s mantra of ‘well, if you’re going to be ill, you may as well be here’ doesn’t take into account the very real, in fact, the dead cert that my cold will either infect members of staff, or provide an excuse for other members to pull feign illness. Not that I’m singling out my MD here, being ill when one is in full time employment is still considered ‘un-British’ that unless you can prove you’re really on your last legs (think Cabin Fever blood vomiting) you’ll be either regarded as a weakling or more probably a liar.
At the beginning of this year the MD sent round an e-mail that informed all staff members that there would be a prize for the member of staff that took the least sick days. This is a very negative way of viewing your employees, it suggests that we’re all liars by default and I was, well, a little insulted. I don’t fake being ill, to me pretending you’re unwell is fucking shit, the subsequent culture of ‘sickies’ (fucking stupid word) means that when one is actually ill and required to spend time in bed, one feels guilty.
It’s almost got to the point where it’s better to go to work bleeding from the eyes and take the time off when you’ve a mild hangover. These days you’ll feel guilty at home whether you’re ill or not.