another day at the mill stone

I got to work this morning kinda on time. I was somewhere between 8 and 10 minutes late. That last light before work is 4 minutes long. I've timed it. Usually, my tardiness isn't a problem. At 8 o'clock in the morning I'm the only one accountable to. I'm not holding anyone back from his or her break, no one is counting on me. Besides, it only takes me about 30 minutes to open. I've got it down the a science... as long as the close didn't suck. Anyway, I'm off my story already.

So I was tardy. As lead/shift manager/coworker who has to be mean in place of manager/le grand fromage, I have a closing shift person tail after me. The purpose of the exercise is to show the closing shift what it's like to open... it's also to train someone else in open. Stephanie was so glad I showed up. She was lost as to what to do. As open progressed I could tell she was feeling worse and worse. About ten minutes after the doors opened she says, "I think I'm going to be sick."

Never a good sign. I asked her if she needed to go to the restroom and shortly after that she's bookin' it out of the cafe. She comes back a few minutes later and I ask how she's feeling. She's okay but still slightly ill.

M: "Are you feeling too bad to work?"

S: "I suppose. I really can't miss much more work, you know? I'm hoping it's just something I ate."

M: "I see.... but if you're going to be sick I really can't keep you here. If you... if you're sick again I might have to send you home."

Ten minutes after that, she's racing out of the cafe again. She returns -- "I didn't make it to the toilet this time." "Oh, do I need to--" "No, I made it to the trashcan." "Can you just stand there and not touch anything?" -- and a few minutes later, I see her stop by the coffee maker, her hand to her mouth. Danger sign!

M: "Are you okay?"

S: "I think I'm going to be sick."

M: "Go."

S: "I don't think I'll make it this time."

M: *points to the kitchen* "There's a trashcan."

Now, when I say "kitchen," I don't literally mean a kitchen. It's more of a large storage space with two industrial refrigerators, two industrial freezers, lots of shelves with boxes, three sinks, and a dishwasher. No food preparation takes place in there.

She vanishes in a flash and the next time I see her she tearfully says that she thinks she should go home. I agree, tell her that she'll feel better at home, tell her that I'll be fine by myself and not to worry about work, and she calls the manager. The manager sends her on her way and cleans up for me. My 10 o'clock has already called out sick so I'm behind the counter by myself until two. It was a slow day so I spent the morning sanitizing everything she'd touched.

So that was work. My roomie has the flu and everyone at work has the plague.