Tweet
Let me set the scene...
There are about 300 of us crowded into a hotel ballroom this morning, sitting ass cheek to ass cheek on uncomfortable little chairs. It's November, the heart of cold and flu season, and half of the room has the plague. I'm among them, and if you want to know the truth, this week I've been coughing so much and so hard that things are rupturing so it's coming up bloody more often than not.
That being said, here we sit. I'm trying not to cough, but others are letting rip. Wet, hoarse coughs go off like bombs every few seconds. Other people are sneezing. There's that unmistakable sound, from every corner, of people sucking bag gobs of mucus the size of slugs. I'd guess that at any given second in this ballroom, there's enough snot being produced to drown a family of four.
And to top it all off, I'm sitting next to an old lady who, while very nice, smells like vomit and ass.
Why are we here? It's the company profit sharing meeting. We do this four times a year, and I'm still not eligible for it. I won't be until February at least, when we'll do this again, and when there will probably be just as many sick and dying, wretched people hacking and coughing and sneezing and blowing their noses and burping and farting and everything else that people do, packed into this same ballroom because it's always the same damn ballroom. I hate this ballroom.
Then you must consider that those of us on my shift have just worked twelve hours and we're not happy at having to sit through the stupid video from the company CEO, and then the exposition on our customers, our potential customers, this, that, and the other. This time, just to mix things up, they gave us a little presentation on sexual harassment, and why not? We have all the time in the world.
Previously, the shift that's supposed to be working now, but isn't because these meetings are mandatory and the factory shuts down for their duration, knew this and would inflate the meeting by asking questions. Sometimes for a full hour. Thoughtful questions. Wise questions. Burning questions... but as time wore on and they realized they might have to go to work sometime soon, the questions began to range from the idiotic to the unprintable.
This time around though, perhaps in that toxic soup in the air, even the shift that should be working now is nervous, because there are only five questions total. Even the plant manager is shocked.
I imagine he'll be shocked also when there's a huge spike in sick time in the upcoming weeks. Half the room had the plague. Now the other half has it. I spent the entire time slumping in my chair, or alternately sitting way up straight in hopes that either the germs were sinking to the floor or heading heavenward. I also spent quite a bit of time praying that I would not get any sicker than I already am. Coughing up blood is no fun. I don't want to start coughing up meat.
And, just between you and me, I had taken my medications before coming to the meeting, so I was very, very high, and that added a whole new dimension of fun to the proceedings. But... now I'm home and I'm going to bed at last.
There are about 300 of us crowded into a hotel ballroom this morning, sitting ass cheek to ass cheek on uncomfortable little chairs. It's November, the heart of cold and flu season, and half of the room has the plague. I'm among them, and if you want to know the truth, this week I've been coughing so much and so hard that things are rupturing so it's coming up bloody more often than not.
That being said, here we sit. I'm trying not to cough, but others are letting rip. Wet, hoarse coughs go off like bombs every few seconds. Other people are sneezing. There's that unmistakable sound, from every corner, of people sucking bag gobs of mucus the size of slugs. I'd guess that at any given second in this ballroom, there's enough snot being produced to drown a family of four.
And to top it all off, I'm sitting next to an old lady who, while very nice, smells like vomit and ass.
Why are we here? It's the company profit sharing meeting. We do this four times a year, and I'm still not eligible for it. I won't be until February at least, when we'll do this again, and when there will probably be just as many sick and dying, wretched people hacking and coughing and sneezing and blowing their noses and burping and farting and everything else that people do, packed into this same ballroom because it's always the same damn ballroom. I hate this ballroom.
Then you must consider that those of us on my shift have just worked twelve hours and we're not happy at having to sit through the stupid video from the company CEO, and then the exposition on our customers, our potential customers, this, that, and the other. This time, just to mix things up, they gave us a little presentation on sexual harassment, and why not? We have all the time in the world.
Previously, the shift that's supposed to be working now, but isn't because these meetings are mandatory and the factory shuts down for their duration, knew this and would inflate the meeting by asking questions. Sometimes for a full hour. Thoughtful questions. Wise questions. Burning questions... but as time wore on and they realized they might have to go to work sometime soon, the questions began to range from the idiotic to the unprintable.
This time around though, perhaps in that toxic soup in the air, even the shift that should be working now is nervous, because there are only five questions total. Even the plant manager is shocked.
I imagine he'll be shocked also when there's a huge spike in sick time in the upcoming weeks. Half the room had the plague. Now the other half has it. I spent the entire time slumping in my chair, or alternately sitting way up straight in hopes that either the germs were sinking to the floor or heading heavenward. I also spent quite a bit of time praying that I would not get any sicker than I already am. Coughing up blood is no fun. I don't want to start coughing up meat.
And, just between you and me, I had taken my medications before coming to the meeting, so I was very, very high, and that added a whole new dimension of fun to the proceedings. But... now I'm home and I'm going to bed at last.
I'm seeing stars and literally falling asleep, and he just wouldn't STFU. At least I made it home, even with the roads being slick...
Comment