Can you call in sick to a job interview?

Situations have conspired this week to throw every single rigorously metered routine of mine out of whack. Round about Tuesday evening, I made the decision to just let go and ride out the storm, see where things shake out. It was obvious at that one-and-two-thirds-days-into-the-week mark that there'd be no return to normality (with all due respect to Warren G. Harding, "normalcy" isn't a word).

It all began with a withering case of The Dreaded Lurgi, or as some of my more pedestrian acquaintances call it, the "flu." Ridiculous name, if you ask me. At any rate, the pestilence blossomed Sunday evening, and throughout Sunday night to Monday morning, I woke bi-hourly to mist my throat with a foul tasting green numbing agent and moan softly into my pillow for several minutes before drifting back into an uncomfortable slumber.

Though Monday morning greeted me with full-blown Lurgi, I held fast to my routine of taking The Boy to school, followed by The Job Hunt and a spin to the Narcotics Testing Laboratory and Shame Emporium for the requisite urine screen for my part-time job at Unnamed Homogenous Big Box Retailer. Then, despite  what felt as if a pair of not quite fully grown weasels were wrestling inside my sinuses, I drove down to Auntie C.'s house to help package up what remains and carry it off to storage. After a few hours of that, I returned home to prepare myself for a full day of appointments and interviews on Tuesday.

For those of you who may not know, manual labor in a mold infested house which hasn't had a window opened since perhaps 1973 is not generally acceptable activity for the afflicted. The primary result? Another night spent with bi-hourly throat-mistings with the added benefit of concurrent full purgings of my insides. At one point, I thought I saw Jimmy Hoffa's reading glasses fall out of my mouth, but who can be certain?

When my 9:00 interview rolled around Tuesday morning, I was not in anything even remotely resembling top form, and the weasels in my sinuses now felt fully grown. The interviewers asked me questions for an hour, and I can't remember a single salient point or statement I may have made. As a matter of fact, the only thing I clearly remember thinking was, "What the heck are you saying? Seriously, did you just say the word 'matrixing?' Oh my GOD you're actually babbling, stopitstopitstopit OH GOD DON'T PUKE HERE!" It's embarrassing to think about, I know I made a clown of myself. But what can you do? You can't really call in sick to a job interview. Maybe you can, I don't know. I probably should have. Something for me to reasearch, I guess. (If you're reading this blog, interviewer, which I have every reason to believe you may be seeing as how you asked me more than one question directly tied to these posts, I'd love to volunteer or freelance for you just because your company is that interesting to me. I'm fairly confident, though, that I won't be on that list of second interviews.)

I then drove directly from there to my next interview, which was 75 miles south. Both positions were the farthest I was willing to travel from home, and each was in the opposite direction. Luckily, I gained some composure on the drive down, and that interview went much better. With the exception of a protracted coughing fit while discussing my career ambitions.

I'd decided that I would shift around my routines because of the interview schedule, but by the time I got home, I had exactly enough stamina left to climb the stairs and fall face first into the sofa. No job hunt, no writing, no thinking, but plenty of soft moaning. My body hit its own off switch, and I didn't wake up again until it was time for throat misting, followed by coughing up what may or may not have been the royal signet of Grand Duchess Anastasia.

Wednesday was another marathon interview day. Though I did wake up for The Boy, I needed my job search and writing time to prepare a presentation on some of the more successful projects I've worked on. Then it was off, and I managed to put on a bold and confident interview face. Of course, my plans of using the evening for my regular morning duties again fell on its face, or rather, my face, which once again found itself firmly planted in the microfiber nap of sofa cushions.

Thursday morning, which arrived after a night gleefully free of coughing or purging fits, was an opportunity to get back on top of the routines. However, after an hour on the job hunt, an impromptu visit to Gramma was called in and ate up three hours, after which the Lurgi came back for what I hope consummates a last hurrah.

Today, I'll be doing some house work for a family friend, which will of course preclude completion of my daily routines. Sigh. Tell you what, I'll make sure I stick to my Saturday routine of pure leisure. Shouldn't be too hard. It's The Boy's birthday, after all, so that guarantees fun to be had.

Lessons I'm taking away from this week:

  1. Be judicious when scheduling interviews. Cramming them together isn't ambition, it's creating potential disaster.
  2. Budget recovery time when sick. Don't just power through; it'll prolong the illness.
  3. Buy really cushy expensive toilet paper. Seriously.

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