Management Subversion - Pulling A Convincing Sicky, with Cuthbert Peterson (third Earl of Wickwater and former World Ludo Champion)
According to industry trade paper Lampston Monthly UK businesses lose close to £37 trillion each second of every working day due to employee illness. This figure is all the more astonishing when you consider that the majority of workers are unanimously incompetent when it comes to the delicate art of claiming free holiday. Luckily for you, viewers, it’s the Ludo off-season, leaving me adequate recreational time to transcribe the finer points of work evasion from the cargo hold of my decommissioned Chinook, circling my estate at precisely 200ft. Winch me up a plate of hot buttered scones, would you Jeffrey?
To Telegraph Is To Be Stupid
Did Hitler call Stalin before strolling into Russia intent on ousting the moustached dictator? 'Joseph, my old chap, I’m just about to roll into your playpen. If you could take time between executing your intelligence officers to order your armies to capitulate on sight, I’d appreciate it.' No, he didn’t. Did I make it obvious to Vladimir Pankatrov when I switched dice during a scheduled Rich Tea intermission at the halfway point of the 1989 Eastern European Ludo Grand Prix? No, I did not. Under no circumstances should you prance around the day before an intended sicky proclaiming to all and sundry that you’re 'feeling under the weather'. Instead, you should act as if being at work is the one component of life you can rely on to get your joy gland excreting at maximum output, and you can’t wait to return tomorrow. Once, whilst working as shift administrator during the April harvest in a camouflaged South American poppy field, I demonstrated my exultation by stripping from the waist down before running zig-zag through the crops whipping each 7 yr old labourer across the buttocks with a fine length of cane. I advise you all to do the same.
Come the morning, resist, at all costs, the urge to get a life-partner / lover / child / postman to phone in on your behalf. Do you seriously think anybody will believe you’re too ill to speak? No, no they won’t. Such a notion is ridiculous (unless you happen to have ingested the sputum from the West African Croak Toad, as I did whilst involved in a tribal love act on honeymoon with my seventh wife off the shores of Lake Abaya in the Autumn of 1972). The correct course of action is to call in at the earliest opportunity sounding a picture of health (no hacking, wheezing or coughing, such behaviour is to be expected and will only serve to lessen the credibility of your apparent condition). Speak clearly and slowly, describing 1 or 2 (no more) related symptoms (moon throat, tramp’s tongue and barley water knee have served me well in the past). Notification by textual message (via portable telephonic equipment or electronic mail) is to be avoided. The potential for time off is enough to warrant the hardship of a 5 minute telephone call. Keep the conversation to a minimum and remain self-assured throughout, there will be no reason for anyone to believe you’re lying your trousers off.
Observe The Two Day Minimum
Never take one day off. Ever. Seriously, I mean it. On reflection, this is of such paramount importance it should probably have been point 1, written entirely in pt. 72 bold, red, uppercase. You may have heard a colleague returning to work boldly declaring themselves the victim of a 24hr bug. Such people are cretins, unlearned individuals sullying the reputation of proud skivers with a level of amateurism unseen since Swedish-born plumber Karl Winters’ assertion that his 1936 animated film Steven: Der Hundepilot was technologically superior to Disney’s breakthrough feature Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, despite being drawn entirely on baking paper with each scene constructed from the remnants of elk corpses supplied by a local road kill enthusiast. The 24hr bug joins Bigfoot, pain-free Dentistry and the breasts of flame-haired pneumatic Hollywood teen tramp Lindsay Lohan in the official list of Stuff That Isn’t Real. If you’ve followed points 1 and 2 only to waltz back into work the next day like you’ve just returned from one of Princess Anne’s naked evenings, you’re a moron, having laid solid foundations only to build the overlaying house out of marshmallow and peanut butter. One day, you’re a fraud. Two days, you’re ill. Three days plus, people begin to worry for your well being. Such worry is good and will result in an outpouring of sympathy on your return (which should help to alleviate the guilt accumulated for each day spent in the garden with a copy of Game Keeper Quarterly and a Bloody Mary when you should’ve been at work).
So, there you have it. With such a canny guide at your disposal you need never again feel aggrieved about the seemingly arbitrary amount of holiday granted to you by whichever capitalist entity you decide to make rich, at the cost of just about everything else that makes life enjoyable and worthwhile.
Now, hovering over the West-Umbershire straight, my flying transport dangerously low on fuel and down to the penultimate cap of Earl Grey from my Thermos, I bid you farewell.
Aim for the shallows Jeffrey, the shallows.