The Ryndex

I’m a bit woozy from the cough syrup, so bear with me here.

I was feeling a bit “tickly” in the throat Monday, but I went into work and shook everybody’s hand, like usual. By the end of the day, I hurt all over, and was tired and congested. I went home to my current, wonderful guests Thea and Craig. I was supposed to meet the ever-amusing Rob that night — he’s travelling around Europe photographing hotels, and in Paris only for the two days. I had to cancel.

Tuesday, I woke up without the alarm clock and said to myself, “Ryan, you’re going to have to take a sick day.”

Calling into work, they informed me that I need to have my illness validated by a doctor. I knew that, but I was hoping I was a special case, since I’m Canadian, and therefore less fraudulent by nature. Unfortunately, it’s Policy and therefore immutable.

So I wobble out to the pharmacist, who directs me to the nearest doctor that takes unscheduled appointments (I made an oxymoron!). It was right beside my house, but I never noticed it because it looks like an apartment door. He was closed for training, but he left a note leading me to the next doctor.

She was also closed, but she didn’t leave a note. A woman sitting on the ground beside the door said that the doctor would be back at four. I’m pretty sure that I went to go do something for twenty minutes that involved me walking back up the street, but I can’t remember what it was.

Then I buzzed into the doctor’s office, which was actually a converted apartment among actual residential apartments. There wasn’t any receptionist, just a waiting room. So I waited. There were three people ahead of me, and it took an hour. At the last minute, I remembered that I had an excellent book in my pocket. Everyone looked at me jealously, and then it was my turn.

She told me that I was sick, that it was a virus, and contagious. She asked me how long I wanted to be off work. I initially said just the one day, but she suggested two days in case I felt equally bad tomorrow morning. I agreed, and said that if I felt better I could just go into work anyway.

She stopped me and said that no, if I have a work stoppage note for two days, I am obligated to take the two days. I could get into trouble by going onto work premises, and that I wouldn’t be covered by either company or state medical insurance if anything happened.

Good thing anyway, because it’s the next day (Wednesday) and I feel just as crappy. I’m downing the French cough syrup, which is delicious (I’m not being sarcastic). It’s a delightful vanilla/caramel flavour that would taste great on crepes. The French know how to cook!

I’m going back to bed now.

Wait, I remember what I did while waiting for the doctor to open — I went to the post office to complain that sometimes mail (especially packages) doesn’t seem to make it to my place. Their defence was “there’s no reason why it shouldn’t.” And that’s all that she would say or do. That’s also standard Policy and immutable.