I got up this morning at 7:45 so I could take my uniform to the dry cleaners (before 9, so it would be ready by 5) and hit the bank. I also went Amy's 9am yoga class. Then, I came home, showered and have been lying on my couch, alternately coughing things up and napping. At 4:49, one of my coworkers called me.
"Where are you?", he asked.
"At home, feeling like shit. Luckily, I'm off today.", I answered back.
"They have you in the thirties."
"No, I'm off today. And I'm sick. Oh shit oh shit oh shit. What do I do? Do I call Chad? Go find him and tell him to call me right now. No, shit. I'll call him. No, go look at the schedule and tell me if I'm wrong."
"Naw, you're wrong. You're off tomorrow."
And I started to freak out. I called, and our crappy hostess first hung up on me. I called back, and asked for a manager again, and she gave me voicemail. She sucks, but that's a whole other blog post. So, I scrolled through my call log, and found the assistant manager's cellphone number. I called him and told him what was going on. I was really upset by this point. Sweaty, feverish and freaked about work is not a good combo. So, I said that I could be there before dinner started, but I wasn't going to be a very good server. He told me to rest, and just work tomorrow.
After last week at work, this is the last thing I wanted. Shit.