Today upon arriving at the office I learned that we were looking at something of a sick-out. A large portion of the support staff had called in sick or were on vacation or had meetings outside the building.
The severity of the short-staff situation lessened as the day wore on. The receptionist, who apparently had broken her glasses at the end of the work day on Friday, was able to have them repaired promptly in the morning rather than taking all Monday as she had anticipated. So she unexpectedly showed up at 10 AM to take her station at the receptionist desk where I was filling in. Then at noon the fellow who processes the dues -- the local's lifeblood -- reported for duty.
There is one young woman though who seemingly calls in sick every Monday. She called in today. She is loathed by almost all of the women in the office. She is selfish and childlike and coddled like a baby. She is horrible for the morale of the group because we're all primates and fairness is hardwired in us; and we all know that our jobs would not be secure if we abused the PTO as she does.
My thing about calling in sick is that I don't do it, unless of course I'm really sick. Fortunately, because I tend to my health, my health is good. I've missed only two days due to illness in the last seven years. I work with migraines and colds. Only if I can't walk or I'm puking do I call in. I find that it's always better to go in.
This evening walking up the hill in the sunshine looking at all the pretty women in their summer clothes I listened to Van Morrison and The Band's performance of "Caravan" from The Last Waltz. It has to be one of the greatest rock 'n' roll recordings of all time. It's like listening to a Hippie prizefighter work the speed bag. The horns and rhythm section punch with precision and power. It's ecstasy.
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