I’m sick but the nature of my day job is such that taking time off is difficult at best. So, ill or not, I went to work today.
Like many Canadians, I work with the public. They can be inspiringly beautiful people. They can also be crazy.
Today, I worked with one of the last kind. It’s funny because though customers might come in all sorts of ages, sizes and colours, the nutty sort always has one thing in common, they have tons to say.
This one was talking before they even met me and they didn’t get any quieter with time. The limits of my position didn’t seem to matter in the least to this particular person and they kept demanding things until I was running about like the proverbial headless chicken.
In my haste, I tripped over a desk and went flying into a chair. I landed on one leg with as much dignity as a hippo on ice. Nothing broken, I told myself and stood back up.
“Pain is a gift; you should offer it to God,” the client shouted from the counter.
There ought to be a law against Mondays.
P.S. Nope. I didn’t sneeze on him…but it was close.
I’m sick. I sound like a cross between a frog and a duck. And I don’t really breathe, I sniff air into my lungs. Ironically, I don’t feel that badly. My head hurts and I feel a little lightheaded but I don’t feel bad. Still, it’s pretty apparent that I look sick because my co-workers treat me like I have some sort of plague.
Now, I might have mentioned I work with the public…the young public. And sniff as I might, they are completely and innocently oblivious to my illness. Instead, they are even more demanding and loud than usual.
I can’t complain. There are people at work with vertigo issues that keeps them falling over and they can’t drive, there are those who are sick all the time, and there are those who struggle with sickness much more debilitating than a sniffle.
Still, you should have heard me trying to speak to my parents yesterday. Between my accent, the plugged nose, the fact that we weren’t speaking in English and my sneezes, I have no idea what I sounded like.
Be warned, gentle reader, this story doesn’t end well.
My hubby and I decided to share a sub for lunch and were heading to our usual coffee shop to do some work when I started to feel…slightly queasy.
By the time we got our coffee, I couldn’t drink it. When I tried the drink, I almost got sick. I gave up on the coffee and discovered that my lovely hubby was also nauseous. Time to head home.
I made it to the house before being sick. My husband didn’t.
I have no idea what was wrong with that sub. It tasted fine. But it’s going to be a while before I get a hankering for another one.