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Going Sick I may not have as much money or career stability as most of my mates. I may not own a car, a house, or anything worth stealing beyond my collectable Franklin Mint Spider-Man plates, but I have one thing they uniformly do not: the knowledge, ability and wherewithal to make the most of a sick day. Not one of those sick days where even bread and water shoot through you like a Bondi tram, and vomitting provides temporary relief from gut-wrenching pain. Not one of those sick days where lime green mucous flows like the Murray River and your head is so clogged you feel like a drowning cretin – unable to think or speak clearly. I’m talking about those delicious days where your girlfriend has a saucer-sized ulcer in the back of her mouth, and you have a sore throat that prevents you from doing your telephonic job. Ailments that stop you from indulging your Protestant work ethic, but still allow you to enjoy the day. My friends, today was that very day. Bright blue sky, a light breeze tickling the air, and a song in my heart. The initial plan was simply to buy some bacon and eggs up the street, and maybe do a bit of lounging. We hit the Gwynneville bread shop for some cappucinos and pies, on the understanding that these were two excellent remedies for neck-related illness. We had just strapped in to read the papers (Mercury and Sydney Morning Herald respectively), when I hit my master stroke. “Let’s walk up to the Botanic Gardens”, says I, “We can take in the news of the realm, head on through to uni and catch a shuttle bus back home.” “Done”, came the reply. So off we went.... ...and completely missed the Botanic Gardens. We wound up at the uni, and decided to browse the bookshop. Here I indulged fantasies of taking on another degree, in which I would no doubt have the exact same work ethic that had me on campus instead of manning the phones at my place of employment. We cocked around there for a little while, then headed home through the Gardens. Strolled by the cacti and other desert plants (my favourite part), then sat in a little gazebo thing overlooking Duck City and the Red Bridge reading the newspapers. Needless to say, we had a relaxing, idyllic - and most importantly - convalescent time at the Gardens. All it cost me was $64 in lost wages and potential ill will from my employer. Maybe I should have picked up a doctor’s certificate, but the weather was too good to spend the day in a crowded waiting room surrounded by sick people. I strongly advise the readers of the Tertangala to
take as many sick days as possible, especially when you work in the
employment equivalent of treading water. Just make sure you have the
faintest ghost of a valid reason before calling in, or you’ll
end up having to work and fake symptoms. That, my friends, is no picnic.
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