Wednesday, May 4, 2011

I Know Exactly Where I Got It, Too.

Several days ago I had an older couple come in and sit in my section, the woman was obviously suffering with some sort of infectious disease of the common cold variety. 

Despite the amount of times I wash my hands in any given day, this past Sunday night I started to get a sore throat.  Monday brought the I've-apparently-swallowed-razor-blades-and-chased-them-with-fire feeling along with the fatigue and aches.  Great way to spend my days off.

I'm out of work so much due to various (often self-induced, like with the almonds) injuries and illnesses that I felt really, really bad about calling in over a cold.  I mean, I felt like crap, don't get me wrong, but moreso I felt that unspoken societal pressure to be superwoman, to power through sickness, and drag my ass to work anyway because that's what we reward/admire/expect in modern American society. 

So, I tried to do the strong thing and I dragged myself in to work.  It was as much as I could do to put on my uniform, tie on my apron and stuff some kleenex in my pocket.  I combed my hair back into a pony tail, put my pocketbook on my shoulder, and that was it.  No make-up, not even mascara or lipstick.  I walked up in that bitch looking like a barf bag and I know it. 

I didn't say anything, didn't feel like saying anything, just got to work doing my usual stuff, in my usual way.  Except I had to stop every five or so seconds to wipe, blow, dig my nose.  I went through my little packet of kleenex in half an hour's time.

Sweet Pea had been warned the day before on a phone call, but everybody else that came across me did a double take.  I know I looked like death.  The embarassing thing is, once somebody sees you like that, you're forever changed in their mind, I'm sure.  It's like seeing a train wreck or a car accident or something else that's really, really bad-awful.  You can't unsee that shit.  And my poor co-workers more than likely can't unsee what they saw of me on Tuesday, May the 3rd in the year of our Lord 2011.  I'm not a very pretty girl, but I've certainly come down a few pegs now, probably to somewhere around floor level, or perhaps even basement, and it doesn't matter how much make-up I put on now they're going to have flashbacks of me without it - my hair kinda stringy, my eyes puffy and all bald-looking without the mascara to give me eyelashes, my nose swollen and pink, my lips dried out and chapped to hell, and my skin, well, let's just call it "patchy" to be nice. 

But oh well, I felt like shit.  I waited two tables, one of which - ha, their lucky day - regularly complains about Speed-of- Suckage Service.  I did my best.  Our Nice Lady Manager, horrified, phased me off the floor and I went about rolling silverware and sweeping under the tables.  My tips were pretty good.  For my service, not for the silverware or sweeping.

I called in sick for today. I felt a little better but still achy, tired, congested. I needed another day to rest, especially considering my underlying health condition with POTS/dysautonomia.  I'm hoping I feel a lot better tomorrow because I plan on going back in.  Hopefully none of the dry skin on my inflamed, red nostrils flakes off into anybody's dish.  Anyway, I don't think they'll notice if it does.

Hey, Republican Party - aren't you glad we don't have a livable minimum wage and universal healthcare?  Come on in to my restaurant tomorrow!  I'll treat ya right!

Oh yeah, and am I the only one that makes little nasal tampons out of their kleenex? 

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