Out Sick

Well actually this week, but not at the library.

STRAP YOURSELVES IN THIS ONE’S A DOOZY

MONDAY

So, I haven’t been to work for a bit. Last Friday, it was raining and my bike tire got stuck in the trolley tracks. I’m fine, but the following Monday I called in to work so I could sleep off these bruises and scrapes. Ten minutes after I call in, the library calls me back.

Me, on phone: Hello?

Coworker: Hey Matt. So, since you mentioned that you were in an accident, we can’t allow you to come back to work until you’re cleared by the City doctor.

Me: …what

Coworker: You’re going to need to make an appointment through HR.

Me: But why? I just need a day to rest off a couple bruises. Seriously, I’m fine. I swear.

Coworker: Sorry, those are the rules

Me: No, but really. I’ve crashed my bike before and nobody said a word about it!

So I call HR.

HR: Human Resources!

Me: Hi? I need to schedule an appointment with the City doctor so I can come back to work.

HR: Do you have a note from your Primary Care stating that you’re fit for duty?

Me: Uhhhh

HR: You’ll need to see your Primary Care Physician before we can schedule the appointment.

Me: UGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGH

So I call my doctor.

Doctor’s Office: Your doctor is on vacation for the next three weeks.

Me, under my breath: Of course she is. Who can you get me?

Doctor’s Office: We’re fully booked for the next two weeks, but if you call at 8am tomorrow, we can get you one of our emergency sick appointments.

Me: GOD DAMMIT

TUESDAY

Me, on phone, at 8am: Okay I need a sick appointment

Doctor’s Office: Okay! How’s 3:45?

Me: Is that really the earliest you’ve got?

Doctor’s Office: Sorry.

Me: UGGGGGGH

Me, at 3:45: Okay so I fell off my bike and-

Doctor: How did you land?

Me: On my elbow.

Doctor: Those scabs are pretty juicy.

Me: Heh. Yeah they are.

Doctor: Take your shirt off.

Me: Okay but seriously, I’m fine

Doctor: Move your arms like this– no, not like that, this way. Yeah, and I hear a little click in your shoulder there, that’s one of your rotator cuff tendons. That should heal up on its own, but you should take an anti inflammatory.

Me: Yes yes I have ibuprofen at home can we please get me the note that says-

Doctor: Did you hit your head?

Me: NO AND I WAS WEARING A HELMET

Doctor: Do you have any numbness or

Me: I KNOW WHAT A CONCUSSION FEELS LIKE

Doctor: Let’s check for

Me: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Me, an hour later: Yo, HR. I have the Doctor’s note can I come see the City doctor now?

HR: Sure! Their next appointment is… Thursday at 9:30

Me: ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING M

WEDNESDAY

Me, at 8:45: Yeah, hey Supervisor. Gotta call in sick again because you won’t let me back.

Head of Department: …We won’t?

Me: Yeah, Coworker said because I was in an accident I had to, like, coordinate with HR and stuff

Head of Department: Were you in the ER?

Me: No

Head of Department: Were you in a collision with another cyclist or a vehicle?

Me: No

Head of Department: Were you concussed?

Me: NO

Head of Department: …I don’t think falling off your bike requires you to take medical leave.

Me: THAT’S WHAT I SAID

Head of Department: This is very odd.

Me: So, wait, can I stop all this nonsense and come back?

Head of Department: No, now that you talked to HR you have to finish with them

Me: GOD DAMMIT

THURSDAY

Me: Okay. It’s 9:30. I stopped by HR. I did everything right. I followed ALL THE RULES. Can I PLEASE go back to work now? I have a blog to maintain and I’ve already missed 3 days worth of jokes

Whoever it was I don’t even care at this point: Your doctor’s note is wrong

Me: HOW can a doctor’s note bE WRONG

Whoever it was I don’t even care at this point: There’s no information here! There’s no diagnosis

Me: THAT IS CORRECT. THE DIAGNOSIS IS THAT I AM FINE AND CAN GO BACK TO WORK. SEE THE WORDS, CAN GO BACK TO WORK, ON THE PAPER

Whoever it was I don’t even care at this point: You need a new note. Fax it to this number.

Me: Fax? Like, type something into a word processor in a computer that has an internet connection, print it out, put it into a machine that sends it to another machine over here that will ALSO print it out, so that you can scan it back into a different computer, also with an internet connection, so now there are 2 digital and 2 physical copies of my medical information in existence?

Whoever it was I don’t even care at this point: Yes.

Me: I will burn down EVERYTHING

Me, on the phone: Listen, ya gotta help me. I need a new note. It has to state that I was in a bike crash and I was not hospitalized.

Doctor’s Office: They can’t ask you to do that! That’s a HIPPA violation!

Me: I USED TO HAVE YOUR JOB AND I KNOW ALL ABOUT HIPPA BUT THEY WON’T LET ME WORK PLEASE I’LL SIGN ANYTHING JUST LET ME GO BACK TO THE LIBRARYYYYYYYYY

Doctor’s Office: Oh, the library? You must work for the City. Yeahhhhhh they got some weird rules. I’ll fax over the new note, hang on.

Me: THANK YOU

And there I wait, my friends, for three hours, watching daytime TV in this dingy-ass City employee Doctor’s office waiting room, featuring Ryan Seacrest, Rachael Ray, the goddamn Cake Boss, and a bunch of people whose names escape me as they are ALL UNWORTHY OF RECOGNITION. Finally, at 1:45, four hours after I arrived at this hell hole, I get a phone call.

Doctor’s Office: Hey James*! Just wanted to let you know we dusted off the ol’ fax machine and sent that note on over.

Me: How expedient. Yo, City people. My fax is here.

City People: Great!

Whoever it was I don’t even care at this point: Okay James, come on back for your physical

Me: I THOUGHT I WAS DONE HERE

Whoever it was I don’t even care at this point, who is NOT OBSERVING ME AT ALL: Okay touch your toes… uh huh… good… now turn your head this way… uh huh… that way… uh huh… now rotate your arms…. Good good

Me: Dude you’re not even looking

Whoever it was I don’t even care at this point: Now put your eyes in here and tell me the smallest text you can read.

Me: Dude. I can see clearly that half of these letters have smudges on them.

Whoever it was I don’t even care at this point: Hah, yeah. Okay, you’re good to go

Me, on the phone: Look Supervisor, It’s 2pm and I need to eat something.

Supervisor: So go eat!

Me: But then, it’ll be like 3. Do you really want me to come in for just two hours?

Supervisor: Yes.

Me: UGGGGGGH

So I go to a nearby cafe where I pay $15 for a tiny-ass crepe with a $1.25 salad that’s literally three lettuce leaves with some dressing tossed onto it. Still hungry, I go a couple doors down and pay $5 for a shit ton of pizza that, as I’m writing this 6 hours later, still has me sated. I am so frustrated at this point that I go one more door down for some ice cream, but the line is so long and the employees so few that I peace out, go to Rite Aid, and grab some antacids because this situation has worn away most of my esophagus. So, I go back to work, and that’s tomorrow’s Today At The Library.

 

*My first name is actually James. Whoops