Personal Day, yeah!
I think we should give ourselves credit, fellow Americans, for having so deeply internalized the correct value assigned to wage-slaving as hard as one possibly can for the empire. The proof is in the emails and text messages of employees who call out, or call off, however you call it, on Monday morning, or at the last minute, making supervisors sweat for that 10k more they make than we make.
Am I a good girl, daddy? Do you approve of me as a worker? Does mom glow with pride, or does she beat me mercilessly? Do I win or lose, fail or succeed in their eyes.
When I call out sick, using 1/10 sick days alloted per year, I worry. Worry, worry, worry, is anyone mad at me, am I in trouble, Will I get fired, will people say sarcastic shit about me, are they talking about me, and again, will I get fired, will I get disciplined I’m better than this, I’m a good girl! I’m a good employee, I wage-slave for you and you only, boss, count me a team player, I need a raise.
The level of bad that I feel for missing work is like, religious. Will I go to hell for calling out sick. Am I worthy to exist. Now I can’t enjoy it, can’t even nap. Oh, yes I can. Tell myself, being an imperfect employee is low-key rebellious. Putting my mental health before their convenience at any point, is a mini-strike. Putting the good of the students, who gain nothing from me crashing out to yell at them, other than a glimpse into their teacher’s fragile psychological state, before the peace of mind supervisors and bosses never get, because THEIR bosses blame our humanity on them. They pass down shame, here ya go, take this, pass it on That aint no puff, puff, pass That’s handcuffs Here, let me arrest myself As a dissident I don’t want to work today, and I cannot.