Not man flu
Yeah, I've had man flu. It was horrific. I think I nearly died at one point.

But this was worse, so much worse. This was proper flu; straight up, no nonsense, fever fuelled flu.

I really did nearly die.*

It kicked in one Saturday while I was working in a bookshop. I felt a bit grotty when I woke up that morning, but I was a brave little soldier and dragged myself into work anyway. That's the kind of man I am.

Around mid morning I started shivering like a smack head in the grips of withdrawal, and the customers began eyeing me suspiciously.

By lunch time I was scanning the shop for somewhere to curl up and die, and the rest of the already heavily depleted staff were telling me to go home.

Mid afternoon and even the customers were telling me to go home. In my head I was already curled up on my sofa, having left my useless carcass in the shop.

All the while the gargoyle who called herself my boss was telling me that going home would be a big mistake and that I'd have no job to come back to if I did. She couldn't sack me for being ill, I knew that much, but I wasn't the best employee and she was just looking for an excuse; like the trigger happy copper who follows a 'suspicious' man into the underground, her gun could go off any minute.

That is until a kindly customer, who'd told me I should go home that morning, passed by and saw me pretending to distribute new books about the shop, and came in demanding to know why I hadn't left yet. I explained that the Wicked Witch had threatened me with the Spanish if I did, so I was just going to struggle on through (see, brave little soldier).

"I don't fucking think so." she spat, before marching up to the Evil Dwarf and, in front of a large queue of people, informed her that I would be leaving for the day, that I would be back when I'm well, and that if I suffered even so much as a misplaced comment then she, the quite high ranking legal somethingorother that she was, would represent me for nothing when I took them to court. By this point I was just floating around above them, watching the whole scene with a dispassionate detachment as the fever took hold in my head, and was more than happy to let her make such a scene on my behalf.

She then told me to gather my things, led me by the hand to her car and drove me home, ranting all the way about her hatred of power hungry losers like my boss. I assumed there was some history there, but I didn't dare interrupt her long enough to ask.

I think I almost called her mummy when I thanked her as I stumbled out of her car at my house. She gave me her card insisting I called her if my boss so much as looked at me funny when I went back to work. I didn't last much longer in that job, mostly because the £9k a year they paid me wasn't enough to pay the rent, but also because the dried up, mop haired old cunt (I don't still hold a grudge, these are just the terms we used to refer to her at the time) made sure I couldn't enjoy my time there.

So thank you mummy crazy lawyer lady, I managed to drag that illness out for days longer than I should have and didn't even have to produce a doctors note when I went back, or anything.




*Ok, I still didn't really, but, you know, it was horrible.
( Moey, Fri 3 Oct 2008, 12:16, 2 replies)

wonderful!
It's absolutely lovely when customers stick up for you!
(The Empress it seems you CAN polish a turd!, Fri 3 Oct 2008, 13:38, closed)

That's an ace tale
and deserves a click.
( Bazongaloid, Fri 3 Oct 2008, 14:14, closed)