Originally posted on: BarefeetBaristasArePeerk’d!
TOASTED ALMOND LATTE RECIPE
The Rules for Calling in Sick When You’re Actually Hung-over
A British police chief recently went public with his frustration over employees “throwing sickies to recover from hangovers,” or in American English, calling in sick because they got blasted last night. Being hung-over is, of course, a type of sickness — physical sickness, involving puke and pain — but it is also self-inflicted. Thus etiquette forbids us to equate hang-overs with contagious diseases and other HR-approved ailments.
Of course, if you are truly hung-over, there is simply no way you’re going to work. You’re puking too frequently to commute; you can barely focus your eyes. You are physically incapable of performing your job — and yes, it’s your own fault, and yes, you should really stop doing this — so right now, right this second, what are you going to do? Walk a police beat while dry-heaving? Sometimes you need a bogus sick day. But there’s a right way and a wrong way to do it. These are the three cardinal rules for calling in sick when you’re actually hung-over:
1. Do Not Speak of the Hang-over.
This is the most important rule, and it is necessary for two reasons: first, plausible deniability. Second, politeness to those more responsible than you are. They all refrained from partying their faces off last night so they could be here today, doing their work. Now your selfishness means they’ll be forced to work overtime to pick up your slack, effectively punishing them for their responsible behavior. And chances are they know you’re not sick. They saw you yesterday; they know you weren’t “coming down with something.” Maybe they saw you switching into your party shoes before you left the office; maybe they saw a stray photo on Instagram. (Delete those before you call in.) But as long as nobody says “hang-over,” you can ignore the drunk elephant of immaturity lurking in the room.
2. Do Not Lie About the Hang-over.
When “throwing sickies” for illicit reasons — hang-overs, playing hooky, emotional distress, just needing a day to chill — you may feel tempted to invent an excuse. Do not give in to this temptation. Using your annual allotment of sick days, one at a time, over the course of a year, is allowed. Lying to your boss is not allowed. So when you are too hung-over to work, just say, “I’m using a sick day.” Do not elaborate. Do not invent a “24-hour bug,” “crippling migraine,” or “food poisoning from leftover tacos.” Your excuses will sound fake, because they are fake. If your boss questions your sick day (she won’t) refer perhaps to being “physically sick” (you are) and leave it at that (but she won’t ask, so don’t even worry about it). Out of respect to the actually sick people of the world, you must not engage in sickness appropriation. Take a sick day, then shut up.
If you work in a place that requires doctor’s notes when ill, quit your job because that’s fascism. If you can’t quit your job, you’ll have to flop on over to the nearest CVS Minute Clinic to waste a co-pay on “dehydration.”
3. Never Use a Sick Day After Drinking With Co-workers.
No matter how visibly and shamefully drunk you were at last night’s good-bye party for Gladys from accounting, you must not take the next day off. Not even if you’re coughing up beer cans. Not even if you’re vomiting blood. When you booze with co-workers, you lose all plausible deniability, which means taking a sick day off now is the rudest of all “sickie” offenses. If you take this day off, you will be spitting directly into the faces of those noble martyrs who came to work today in spite of their headaches. Or who deprived themselves of alcohol in the name of responsibility. If you call in sick the day after drinking with co-workers, you will be the skunk at the party, the shame of the water cooler, the guy nobody invites to happy hour ever again. Even if nobody says “hang-over” out loud, some drunk elephants are too large to ignore.
And worst of all, if you throw a sickie after co-worker boozing, your boss will find out. Such is the fate, it seems, of the sickie-throwing cops of the Essex police department: “There is a group — a small group, but a group nonetheless — abusing the process. If they can’t get time off, they take it sick. If they have a heavy night, on occasions they are taking days off,” the police chief said, likely setting off a series of knowing nods from cops who are sick-to-death of covering for drunks. “Every time someone throws a sickie they are letting their mates down, they are letting the community down. And the only people who suffer are their friends who then have to pick up their workload.” Even the police union “agreed that sickness had got out of hand” (but they argued that stress relief, not punitive action, was needed). Once acknowledged, hang-over sick days will never again be allowed to slide. Taking hang-over sickies is like pretending to believe in Santa well into your teens for gift-abuse purposes: If you speak of the truth, acknowledge the truth, or enter a situation in which the truth cannot be ignored, then the jig is up.
You definitely shouldn’t write a blog post about using sick days for hang-overs. But if you do, be prepared to avoid eye contact with your boss for the rest of the day.
Originally posted on: AmericaOnCoffee
Janey was always the one. She was. shapely, tall and pretty. She knew it because guys were always swooning her.
As every weekday morning, Janey would pick up five co-workers: Lorna, Lindsey, Amy, Dawn and Carmen in her spacious golden brown Audi. We head to our job at Crimwinkle and Snowden, a very prestigious marketing firm that distributed household supplies. We were all marketing representatives, and our jobs demanded the highest standards in our appearances and attitudes.
This was a good reason why the six of us were so lax and loose behavior on our way to work. We laughed and joked about the silliest of things.
But, at some point there was a guy quite handsome looking staring at Janey. He appeared quite irritated. Janey said “Wow” he was quite cute and took his behavior as a come on. We co-worker/ride sharers didn’t know what to make of it.
The guy beckoned Janey to pull over so he could talk with her.
She did and he gave her a hard punch in the face.
This was a morning of a Ravenous Rage! I may be telling it from a ride-sharer-onseer perspective, but it happened to me, Janey. My friends never commuted to work with me again. And, it was such an embarrassment that I quit my job Crimwinkle and Snowden
©David Dean (AmericaOnCoffee) All rights reserved2018
ORIGINALLY POSTED ON: AmericaOnCoffee
Although Matt and I were married for 3 1/2 years, my advice to anyone in a raunchy relationship has been to “get out fast”. That is until recently.
I always suspected that Matt was still using drugs, eventhough, he had sucessfully finished rehab.
We live in a quaint suburban home, and we were comfortable until the challenges came bit by bit. All of our social and party life ended. We snobbed our friends and they snobbed us back.
One morning, I opemed the door of the car and the back seat was a mess. Paper strewn everywhere. I could not believe that Matt was retaliating because I had been giving him the cold shoulders.
Obviously. when Matt went to empty the trash last night, he emptied it in the car. He said he did not do it. So in utter disgust, I took to silence, which ended any dialogue of accusations.
Matt had a job interview on this very same morning, and I was his driver.
We only had one car now which was one of our struggles. So, I preceded to drive Matt to his interview.
All the time, I kept thinking Matt was a horrible beast, who was on drugs and without a job and beset in acts of evil.
Matt told me earler that his layoff was due to the company cutting back. My thoughts were, “whatever”. And, no matter my mood at being consumed with Matt, I was detetmined to get him to his interview, on time
So, I immediately hopped onto the freeway. I was within 15 minutes and 4 miles away from the prospective job. My driving at 30 mph, I assumed, was a perfectly-timed speed. I then hopped off of the freeway and, was nearly there.
As risky as it may have been, I reached behind. to the back seat to get my cellphone, from my purse. In doing so, immediately Matt grabbed my hand. I thought in an instant… “WAS THIS MATT”? …”trying to be romantic” ? And, in a demanding voice, I said. “Matt let go of my hand”!
Matt bounced an immediate reply, “I don’t have my hand anywhere near yours”! I looked at Matt and his eyes stared into mine. Yet, I was continuing to drive. Together, we looked at where his hands were placed. And then we looked at my extended hand that was clutched by a hairy long finger….
We both screamed in terror, “WHAT”?
Matt didn’t make the interview because I loss control of the car, which crashed into an unoccuppied bus stop. And what luck it was that no people were standing there.
Matt and I both sustained major injuries. We were both taken to the same hospital with our beds perpendicular to each other. We both went through therapy and recovered.
Long story short… Matt was called back to work and promoted to a CEO position . We now have 2 cars. Matt did not ramshack the back seat of the car. It was that vermin raccoon that also put us in a car accident. Might I add too, Matt’s drug result was proof that he was no longer a user.
©2019 Doro Dancer/AmericaOnCoffee (AOC) – All rights reserved
“I Can’t Stand the Rain” is a song originally recorded by Ann Peebles in 1973, and written by Peebles, Don Bryant, and Bernard “Bernie” Miller. Other hit versions were later recorded by Eruption and Tina Turner.
Ann Peebles version
The song was written by Peebles, her partner (and later husband) Don Bryant, and DJ Bernard “Bernie” Miller in 1973:
One evening in Memphis in 1973, soul singer Ann Peebles was meeting friends, including her partner, Hi Records staff writer Don Bryant, to go to a concert. Just as they were about to set off, the heavens opened and Peebles snapped: “I can’t stand the rain.” As a professional songwriter in constant need of new material, Bryant was used to plucking resonant phrases out of the air and he liked the idea of reacting against recent R&B hits that celebrated bad weather, such as the Dramatics’ “In the Rain” and Love Unlimited’s “Walking in the Rain (With the One I Love)”. So he sat down at the piano and started riffing on the theme, weaving in ideas from Peebles and local DJ Bernie Miller. The song was finished that night and presented the next morning to Hi’s studio maestro, Willie Mitchell, who used a brand new gadget, the electric timbale, to create the song’s distinctive raindrop riff. It really was that easy. “We didn’t go to the concert,” Bryant remembers. “We forgot about the concert.”
Ann Peebles said: “At first, we had the timbales all the way through the song but as we played the tape, Willie Mitchell said ‘what about if the timbales were in front before anything else comes in?’. So we did that and when we listened back I said ‘I love it, let’s do that’.”
Produced by Willie Mitchell, the song became Peebles’ biggest hit when, in 1973, it reached #38 on the US Pop Chart and #6 on the R&B/Black Chart; it also reached #41 on the UK singles chart in April 1974. The organ is played by Charles Hodges. It was one of John Lennon’s favorite songs and in a Billboard magazine article he commented, “It’s the best song ever.” Ian Dury chose this song as one of his eight songs when he appeared on BBC Radio 4’s Desert Island Discs.
Originally posted on: AmericaOnCoffee
I could not imagine the loudness. The outbreak of noise was that of a spontaneous combustion.
The morning had circumvented into a sloping fall of character; a disunity of disharmony, an employee mayhem. Coffee and papers flying in mid air was a clue that madness had clocked in for the 9 to 5 shift.
And, what an unusual visual of a business staff. “Protruding eyeballs, facial and body contortions hang gliding on blows of profanities”.
The rigorous-ness of cloud-heated anger caused office furnishings and equipment to topple over. The-brawl-had-become, a “BEATING”.
Why should mornings be a striking resemblance of a nightmare?
Misguided company policies and job descriptions were no match for any negative presumptions.
Yet, let us not forget the secret instigators who contributed any or all of their own ignoramus misinterpretations.
Adding to these facts, it was a bit strange for there to be NO gestures for intervention or refereeing.
The result, anyone could have guessed, ‘that when questions fly, coworkers hide’. Door shuttings thus became acts of escape. And, this was to do away with any risk of involvement possibilities.
Windows of dishonor are a dirty funnel for glaring discords. And, a back-handed slap on one’s capabilities.
Truly, I ask, are aggrevations carryovers of a bad life, a bad breakfast, or maybe even a bad relationship? All are notorious for setting temperments on a roll.
What match was there, “here” for gain? Paychecks? Fringe benefits? Seniority? Hourly, monthly or annual compensations?
The crossing of boundaries and power struggles in the workplace are head butting and traumatically deceptive.
So, what actually went wrong? All were highly skilled and due a promotion.
Signed Jack, the Maintenance Man
“Oh, and there was blood with patches of hair, pairs of eyeglasses, false teeth and job vacancies.”