Oops...
You know that point you can hit when your entire physical being revolts and says "Enough!"?
Yeah, that one.
I've just hit that point, and I have twelve hours of work ahead of me. I have to leave in about twenty or twenty-five minutes, and I suspect I will have to drag myself all the way there.
*sigh*
It's not so bad. I'm just done, but twelve hours too soon.
In related news, it really takes a special kind of person to call in sick over Christmas. As we were saying earlier at work, for most of us to call in sick over Christmas, we'd have to be on a stretcher in the hospital, possibly already in a coma. To call in sick because you have a cold, well, that's pretty special.
See, if you call in sick on Christmas, it means you've wrecked someone else's Christmas. Someone who wasn't expecting to work on Christmas, who has to scuttle ALL their plans, leave their family behind, and come into work.
The people who were working this Christmas were mostly "expendable" people. People who don't have small children or sick wives who depend on them. Yes, we have family, but my parents for instance already knew that I wouldn't be sticking around for Christmas and had time to get used to the idea.
You try explaining to a three-year-old that, no, Daddy can't stay to have lunch with the family and that you'll see him again tomorrow morning because he has to go to work. Or hey, why don't *you* go and explain to the woman with breast cancer who just had another round of chemo that you have a cold and therefore her husband has to leave her by herself on Christmas Day?
Yeah.
So right now one of our coworkers is kind of in the shithouse. Yes, it sucks that he has a cold, but none of us want to work over Christmas, so most of us are of a mind that unless he's dying he can suck it up and come in. It's not like anything is happening anyway: Christmas is always dead.
Okay. Time to get dressed.
Yeah, that one.
I've just hit that point, and I have twelve hours of work ahead of me. I have to leave in about twenty or twenty-five minutes, and I suspect I will have to drag myself all the way there.
*sigh*
It's not so bad. I'm just done, but twelve hours too soon.
In related news, it really takes a special kind of person to call in sick over Christmas. As we were saying earlier at work, for most of us to call in sick over Christmas, we'd have to be on a stretcher in the hospital, possibly already in a coma. To call in sick because you have a cold, well, that's pretty special.
See, if you call in sick on Christmas, it means you've wrecked someone else's Christmas. Someone who wasn't expecting to work on Christmas, who has to scuttle ALL their plans, leave their family behind, and come into work.
The people who were working this Christmas were mostly "expendable" people. People who don't have small children or sick wives who depend on them. Yes, we have family, but my parents for instance already knew that I wouldn't be sticking around for Christmas and had time to get used to the idea.
You try explaining to a three-year-old that, no, Daddy can't stay to have lunch with the family and that you'll see him again tomorrow morning because he has to go to work. Or hey, why don't *you* go and explain to the woman with breast cancer who just had another round of chemo that you have a cold and therefore her husband has to leave her by herself on Christmas Day?
Yeah.
So right now one of our coworkers is kind of in the shithouse. Yes, it sucks that he has a cold, but none of us want to work over Christmas, so most of us are of a mind that unless he's dying he can suck it up and come in. It's not like anything is happening anyway: Christmas is always dead.
Okay. Time to get dressed.