Death Becomes Him

For those of you who do not have children, allow me to give you some advice: don't have them. My son Kyle has been feeling under the weather for a few days now, and the doctors told us that his glands and tonsils are swollen. Being the compassionate father, I have been spending a lot of time with Kyle, trying to make him feel better.

And now, I'm sick as a dog.

My throat hurts, my back is killing me, and I have a mild fever. Unfortunately, tonight is also my first night back at work, and I'm too much of an idiot to call out sick. Thus, I will try and go to work, slave through the day, and hope to last until my doctor's appointment tomorrow. Why? Because the City of Philadelphia treats its employees like children. If an employee takes off sick, they are required to turn in a doctor's note - which is usually a hassle - on their date of return.

Like we are all going to play hookey.

After eight occurrences without a note, the employee is placed on the Sick Abuse List - a leper colony where the employee is monitored during every following occurrence. The policy forces people like myself to trudge in when they should really be in bed. Like today. As I write this, I am sweating like a pig, and it's 65 degrees in my home. And, like a jackass, I'll be at my desk in three hours.

End of rant.

By the way, I won't blame my lousy eighth place finish in GOP and the City's Weekend Caption Contest on my sickness. My entry just plain sucked.