Standard Procedure (Part 1 of 2)

So I called in sick Tuesday, right? Because I was really sick, the bones and muscles of my body ached like I was hit by a truck. Actually, I felt sick since Saturday and fought off the bacteria with Red Horse and a pack of Marlboros. The bacteria apparently won.

But I am the type who won’t just go down without a fight. Never giving up. So Monday I reported to the office walking like a somnambulist, did my bit of the day, and trying not to punch the face of the office guard.

Tuesday morning, the body just shut down, hibernating more like. I couldn't get up. Every inch of my muscles hurt like hell, or whatever hell is, but I’ve surely lived in it a lot nowadays. So I fought my way to reach the telephone and called the HR.

Listen, darling, I’m sick.


What?


I’m sick. I can’t come to the office today.


Who are you?


It’s Jonas Perida, luv. Put a mark on my record and tell the Boss I’m dying I can’t go to work today.


Whoever you are, don't call me darling or bob. I don’t know you and this is the Information Desk of Mandaue Police Station. And you certainly need help. I'll send over a buddy if you'll tell me your address. Who do you say your name again?


Toot-toot-toot***

Must be the bacteria, poking fun at me. Just you wait you teratoid nitwits I’ll have a little surprise for you. I dialed again, carefully. This time I got the right woman on the line. HR told me to cut the crap of dying and just take my medicine and get well fast. They will miss me soon. Also procure a medical certificate when I get back. Standard procedure.