Townhall
How I Spent My Sick Days
by Steve Chapman
Jan 13, 2013 

Recently, after a couple of days of feeling a bit run down, I groused to my wife that I didn't feel bad enough to miss work, just bad enough to make work a lot harder than usual. "It might be nice to feel bad enough to have to stay home," I said sardonically. 

Scratch that thought. The microbes have ears. A couple of days later, I had gotten my rash wish -- complete with cough, sneezing, scratchy throat, wooly head and an enveloping fatigue that banished any thought of going to work. 

Well, not any thought. I've heard a lot about Catholic guilt and Jewish guilt, and one of these days I will find out what it is that makes Catholics and Jews feel guilty. But I can attest that nothing wracks the conscience of someone raised Protestant like failing to carry out one's occupational duties in a timely and efficient manner. 

If you can breathe, my conscience advises, you can work. My body, however, says: "Ha. Ha. Ha. I'm not working, and that angel on your shoulder can't make me." 

My body does not take this illness lightly. My body likes to think it's dying. It has fantasies of appearing in the sequel to "Les Miserables." 

My work ethic is somewhat appeased that my superiors are not eager for me to show up at the office, bringing my germs with me. But I can't shake the fear that they think I'm faking so I can stay home and watch the entire first season of "Homeland." 

I'm used to being at odds with prevailing fashion: I can't bring myself to wear stylish jeans, I've never seen a Quentin Tarantino film, and my idea of a cutting-edge singer is George Strait. So it came as a surprise to learn I am now part of a big trend. 

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