Oh, My My.

Oh, hell yes. It’s Friday.

I think about half the staff at work are sick. The manager of the front store left early on Tuesday, returning with a prescription and a face mask. Wednesday, one of the supervisors went home sick, and one of the cashiers didn’t make it in. The manager’s wife came in yesterday to pick up some meds; she’s got the flu now. StressedRPh has some sort of respiratory thing going on that’s making her sound like she’s smoking a cartoon of cigarettes for breakfast and washing it down with a bottle of Jack. BossRPh came in just before my shift ended last night, dropping off a doctor’s note excusing her from work until next Wednesday at the earliest. She’s got the flu.

I think it’s probably just a matter of time before I end up sick. Last night, I texted my mother, “part of me hopes I catch something, I never call out, I’m always the one who gets called in to cover.” I can’t remember the last time I called out sick. In fact, there’s been a few times I’ve called out sick and have been asked if I could make it through a shift if I came in later. Like, maybe if I drank half a bottle of Pepto, I could stop shitting long enough to work an afternoon. Once, I was in the ER, hooked up to an IV, and I made him take my phone outside specifically to send StressedRPh a pic of me to prove I wasn’t just fucking off for the day.

No, I can’t come in.

The last time I actually called out for anything was the day of his arrest, over a year ago. If I time it right, I could get a vacation for my birthday.

Tomorrow, roughly $250 worth of Warhammer minis are getting delivered, with more trickling in Sunday and Monday. Imagine how much I could paint if I had a week off.

The weekend is upon us, my friends. Have a good Friday.