Lie(u) Days

"The only thing worse than having a job is looking for one." These words ring in my ears with the same truth as The Sermon on the Mount and the lyrics to Dust in the Wind. I'm not sure if comparing The Kids in the Hall's Bruce McCullough with Christ or Kansas is kosher but truth is truth no matter he who utters it and I hate looking for work. I only make mention because my own job's taken on a sort of metamorphosis that won't be resulting in my emerging as a beautiful butterfly from the office chrysalus. In fact, I believe that my job's been trapped in a body snatcher pod and if I do emerge it will be as a staid and pre-programmed shell of a man (kinda' like me when I was still going to Church). I'm stressed out and there's no denying it. I'd love to quit but how would I feed my family? Who would look after my kids?

I search inside myself for the answer to these questions and find one in the 14 year-old paperboy I was, "Lie, man," he says. "Take a day, centre yourself and become fortified against the work-a-day onslaught."

Of course! It's clear again. No job is too terrible when you have no shame and sick days. Lies and deceit are the worker's most effective weapons against the capitalist oppressor. And how could I have forgotten the many faceted art of the sick fake. I was once a self-taught master of faking sick. I still have the recipe for brewing home-stewed vomit out of common household items (complete with pre-chewed food and genuine stank) that would make you want to throw the real thing into the mix. The 17 year-old bag boy, 22 year-old grill jockey and 25 year old coffee barrista in me all agree, "Take a Lie Day!"

Only one voice raises an objection, the 35 year-old PAR Team Leader. "You have responsibilities now. You have an active roster of 27 people who rely on you for support. Pay no heed to the rabble in your brain and do your sworn duty."

The retort comes pouring from my mouth like hot sewage on a Sunday afternoon, "It's your fault that I'm in this mess in the first place. Kansas! but we were happy as a phone answering monkey. It was a job we could have done in our sleep. The old lady configured us to be polite on the phone, for McCullough's sake! What else was all of that percussive maintenance good for? And sworn duty, my ass! The only swearing I do at work is under my breath so that I don't frighten the kids."

"Calm down," he says (the 35 year-old PAR Team Leader in me can be very soothing when necessary), "it's not as bad as you think. Go in, take an extra smoke break or two, put in a good days work and let job satisfaction be it's own reward."

Something about his smarmy, self-satisfied tone gets under my skin and my hands start acting of their own accord. Bringing up my work email from home is a programmed muscle response by now, I don't even have to think about it to make it happen. Thirty seconds later the 35 year-old Team Leader shuts his mouth and crawls back into his hole in my brain because we have access to something much better than a Lie Day.

See, being a salaried employee in a multi-national corporation means that you don't get paid overtime for working late or on holidays. Instead, you're entitled to Time in Lieu of Pay. July 1st was Canada Day and even though I wasn't scheduled to work I'm still entitled to a day off. That's why my hands knew to type, "Hello All, I will be using my July 1st lieu day on Thursday, July 15 in order to combat creeping malaise and a raging ennui. Kind Regards, Hot Air, PAR Team Leader, North Bay and Sudbury. Suck it, bitches."

Spell check...send. Done.