Hey Boss man, sorry, I know there is a lot going on right now but I am really sick today and won't be at work.
I hit 'message send' on Teams and threw my head back on the pillow where it had sweatily rested for the last countless hours of fever sleep.
A strange noise availed my senses. It was like a ringing but slightly musical. Well, musical if you thought the Pokemon theme passed as music.
Huh?
I picked my phone up and looked at the screen. It was El-Jefe video calling me. What the fuck, I was in my boxers?! I was in bed. I mean, I know I have teased The Heffich in the past with my splendid nakedness but I was weak and vulnerable. I was ill?! Grrr.
I clicked answer.
Boom? Boomy? What is going on? What do you mean you won't be at work?
El-Jefe face was a smear on the screen. I rubbed my crusty eyes a bit but it didn't help due to El-Jefe just being a particularly fat and greasy-faced fellow.
I won't be in. I am ill.
I coughed and tugged at my quilt to make sure i covered my nipples. I didn't want to induce any unwarranted stiffies.
I don't understand. You "won't be in??" You work from home. You don't have to come in?
I cleared my throat with a rasping graagh like a bear ejaculating into a teacup.
You know what I bloody well mean. I am ill. I cannot work today. Simple.
I realised I had been feebly pulling my head off the pillow to gaze into my phone like a geriatric tortoise doing a shit.
I let it flump down and huffed.
Boss man, I haven't got the strength to get out of bed, let alone virtually chase a fucking million shysters all over the world via the internet to do some work.
I rolled my head about on my pillow melodramatically and promptly felt a bit sick.
But what about the go-live call? There is a Go decision needing taken today?!
El-Jefe sounded panicky as if waking up in the Land of Toast with the word butter tattooed on his forehead.
Don't know.
I whispered as if already having passed partway through the veil.
What do you mean, you don't know? Who is your stand-in if you can't make it?
The headlights of the car of doom had El-Jefe firmly in sight.
You are you twit.
My voice was a hoarse rasp now, somewhere a candle guttered as something dark and skeletal approached.
Me?! What will I tell them? Are you sure you can't come in? I mean, log on for a bit? Surely you will just be watching a bit of telly anyway? Its practically the same thing?
At this, I shook off Death's cold embrace and gave my phone and through it, El-Jefe, a hard stare.
No, it is bloody well not the same. Staring at my laptop for eight hours is vastly different from sleeping and watching shit TV whilst feeling sorry for myself.
I left out the bit about the obligatory fever wanks that had to be indulged in when you were holed up in a sweaty bed. Some things were private after all.
El-Jefe's face twisted as he wrestled with his inner demons of not knowing how to do anything or how anything actually worked in the place that employed him.
Ok, ok. What will I say in the Go/No-Go meeting?
His voice wobbled to and fro like a writhing maggot trying to find the corpse it had just tumbled out of.
Say 'Yes.'
I wheezed, my strength fading rapidly.
I should say yes? And that will be ok?
He sounded both frantic and relieved at being given such a clear direction.
Yes.
I whispered.
Ok, you're certain?
Yes.
Ok then, a yes it is. I hope you feel better. Speak tomorrow.
He hung up.
I lolled back in my bed and barked out a laugh. Yes was not the right answer for them today but fuck it. I had me some Netflix to get acquainted with.