About Mondays…

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.

Rant: My life is not like the movies

I was thinking that exact thought as I heaved a pile of laundry from the dryer and tried to walk to the bedroom without tripping over dogs.

Reality never seems to intrude into the movies. If there’s a heroine or hero doing laundry (something I’ve very seldom seen), she or he has a humble set of three perfect towels, neatly arranged and puts them into the closet with ease…usually while engaged in interesting conversation.

When I wash towels, I do all the towels. That means the emerging pile defies gravity just by standing and will usually tilt like the Tower of Pisa. If, by some miracle, I manage to make it to the linen closet without it falling, there’s no empty, clear spot waiting for them inside.

(credit:properhunt.com)

(credit:properhunt.com)

My husband tends to grab and pull whatever he needs from the depths of the closet, so any attempts at folding and piling only last until he arrives. And there’s no invigorating conversation going on. The only words in the air are my own. Explaining things to the dogs.

By the way, that picture up there is my definition of heaven. Isn’t it just beautiful? And on the complete opposite spectrum from my reality.

In the movies people seldom do laundry or cook or even shower. I just watched the Bourne Supremacy and Matt Damon literally didn’t eat or sleep once in the entire movie, let alone do laundry.

And in the movies people walk into work from their cars during a sunny morning, holding a light briefcase and a steaming cup of coffee.

(credit:huffingtonpost.ca)

(credit:huffingtonpost.ca)

Thanks to living in Canada, I crawl to my place of employment while it’s both dark and freezing. Forget keeping my hair well coiffed, to keep hypothermia away, I slam a hat over it and end up with the very unflattering hat-head. Instead of a briefcase, I carry a backpack, many bags with treats (I work with the public), boxes with other supplies, my leaky water bottle, binders of information and my keys…usually held between my teeth.

(credit:aquadoc.typepad.com)

(credit:aquadoc.typepad.com)

I don’t dress like professionals on TV. They wear pristine suits that match and compliment their physique. If I don’t clash too badly, it’s a wardrobe success. My work demands physical movement and there’s no way I can do that in a restrictive suit. Besides, most of my clothes end up covered with a healthy layer of dog hair. And those high heels are a thing to admire from afar but a true instrument of torture if worn daily.

(credit:pinterest.com)

(credit:pinterest.com)

Still, a day doesn’t go by that I don’t laugh at work. Matt Damon didn’t crack a smile the entire movie.

(credit: idiosyncrazies.wordpress.com)

(credit: idiosyncrazies.wordpress.com)

 

Sniffle, sniffle

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.

Sniff!