Sick day

This morning, 8:15AM

'Good morning, Not For Profit Organisation X, Louise Wellington speaking'

'Louise, Jonathan here- I'm still not feeling very well at all- got a really bad cold.  Going to have to stay off again today, I'm afraid'. 

There follows a very slight pause- so brief as to be almost imperceptible, but just long enough for the unspoken thought - 'you don't sound like you've got much wrong with you to me, you despicable little skiver'- to be transmitted down the telephone lines from the Westside at twice the speed of sound.  It's a neat little trick they teach them at management school.  Give Louise credit, she's got it down to a fine art, and sure enough I come off the line feeling just ever so slightly guilty- sullied, even- as if the boss has suddenly materialised in the southern suburbs and spied me through the netcurtains semi-undressed and in the course of some unspeakable sexual perversion. 

The worst part of this is that I am actually ill, I will have you know.  I know this as I spent the best part of yesterday in a piteous state, lying in bed sneezing, snuffling, sleeping fitfully and generally feeling very sorry for myself.  In the afternoon I did manage to rise briefly and, in an attempt to satisfy some frankly unusual virus-induced cravings, partake of a lunch made up of a chicken and mushroom pot noodle, a lemsip, and a potato waffle sandwich in white bread.  By the evening, I was well enough to struggle down to the living room swathed in a blanket, and, in between sneezes, follow via the wonders of Radio Five Live Extra every kick of the relegation six-pointer at Villa Park, a 'French Legion' inspired Newcastle emerging from a tense battle as victors by the odd goal in three. 

 

This morning I'm feeling slightly better, and did briefly consider going into work, before remembering that there would be very little actual work achieved anyway, given that the entire workforce of Not For Profit Organisation X has been summoned for the afternoon to a gleaming but inaccessible-by-public transport out-of-town Rugby League stadium, where the annual staff conference is being held.  If previous years' incarnations of the event are any indication, there will be some combination of the following: an opening, arousing address from the Big Boss only slightly compromised by the unexplained and noisy collapse of lovingly-erected backdrop featuring a twenty-foot graphical illustration of the organisational vision; some kind of hired-by-the-hour motivational speaker imploring us, like an evangelical congregation, to 'turn to face the person next to you and tell them one accomplishment you are truly proud of'; the large-screen beaming of an amateur propaganda video setting the organisation's achievements of the past 12 months to an upbeat indie-guitar backing track; and- as light relief to close the proceedings- a comic musical turn involving the more biddable and less self-aware members of the management cadre dressed up as air stewards.  I'm not making any of this up, I assure you.

 

So- judging that a staff conference jointly choreographed by a crack back-from-beyond-the-grave dream team of Busby Berkely and Joseph Goebbels is hardly an ideal reintroduction to the workplace for a man still not firing on all cylinders, I made the 8:15 call to Louise, and you know what, she can believe me or not- I don't care, it's not as if she can see me sitting at the computer here writing about her in disparaging terms (at least I hope not- apart from anything else she's actually quite a nice boss, all things considered and taking into account some of the vindictive and incompetent bastards I've had the misfortune to report to elsewhere).

 

Now- if you will excuse me, I am going back to bed, to sleep until early afternoon, or until the cravings for a tin of chicken and mushroom soup and a Lemsip become so strong as to be irresistable.  Good day to you all- and no slacking out there now, do you hear me?                   

Comments

[looby]

I think attending that (very well-described but awful-sounding) staff conference would really have sent you back to your bed for a far longer time than had you taken the much wiser course of chicken soup and sweating it out into a 14 tog.

Get well soon (but ideally, not *that* soon).

[Jonathan]

You won't believe this but from several accounts I've been given by traumatised colleagues the actual conference was such an embarrassing spectacle that it made my predictions look conservative. I will spare you too many details but if I tell you the motivational speaker's act involved getting everyone to give each other back massages (and we are talking about an audience made up in a large part by working class men with vans, this is a detail perennially lost on the corporate types who arrange the annual jamboree) you will get the impression. Also the managers did some kind of stage act involving shopping trolleys which literally nobody understood (some message to do with brand identity is the best guess)- it was greeted by stunned silence. I almost wish I'd been there even though it would possibly have killed me.

Two other things- just as I was pressing 'publish' on the post the actual old-fashioned post arrived through the letterbox, including my payslip... which seems ominous do you not think? Also when I went back to work the following day boss 'Louise' was very nice and genuinely concerned about my health and said I sounded awful on the phone and was I sure I was OK to come back... so now I get to feel properly guilty about misreading her mind in public... unless of course the 'concern' is just another management ploy to get us all signed up to the work ethic good and proper, ah yes that will be it...

[abby]

Ah, a brilliant summary of modern work no doubt spurred on by fever. I have been reading too much Jane Austen and in her day you get to lie in bed for at least a month with a cold and to indicate to any one who wants you on the move sooner that it might have a "putrid tendency." I hope you are all better soon!

[looby]

I'm sorry *I* missed it now!

[joella]

You are blogging even while ill! I have been feeble and will now redouble my efforts. I have also experienced the Management Line Dance (ours have been known to pretend to be at Hogwarts), but actually the most resonant bit of this post for me was the Poorly Lunch Choice. Hope you are feeling better x

[Jonathan]

Abby- 'putrid tendencies'. Damn, I should have got that phrase into my 'back to work' form. Maybe next time...

Looby. You're not. No really, you're not. It was by all accounts brutal almost beyond belief and not suitable for beings of our sensitive nature.

Joella- thank you! And good to see you're back on track with the nearly once-a-week thing yourself now...

[MQ]

Whether you used her real name or not will probably determine whether you join the ranks of those 'let go' for their blogging activities at some future date...

At the end of my first year of teaching, I dressed up as an airline steward for the staff show put on to entertain the kids. No, wait, I was dressed as a pilot; it was the ten female colleagues who danced in formation around me that were stewardesses. There's a photo of that somewhere...