I am reminded why I usually say, “Good morning” instead of “How are you this morning?”
It’s because of people like my coworker, who took the opportunity to describe, in great detail, the extent of her gastric distress. And who, when I was eating lunch, decided to come into my office and explain, in even greater detail, why she was unable to eat hers.
This could be the ultimate diet regimen. Have someone talk about vomiting when you’re trying to eat.
Heh. I’m reminded of the time one friend asked another literal-minded and very honest friend “How are you today?” “You know, my butt hurts.”
Ultimate dieting regime - eat all meals naked, in front of a mirror.
Urk. You win.
At least your coworker just *talked * about it. I knew a slob at one place I worked who was the master of the “casual puke.” We were talking out on the shop floor one morning and he mentioned that he wasn’t feeling too well that day. And then he said, “Excuse me for a sec,” pointed his face at the trash barrel he was standing at and hurked! - a quick little 2-second technicolor yawn.
And then he wiped his mouth on his sleeve, turned back to me and continued, “So anyway…” like nothing ever happened.
Once my mom’s sister asked my dad how he was doing and he griped, “My tail hurts.” And she replied, “Oh, really?” as she slowly made her escape.
Ahh, yes. I know this person well. Or people like her, anyway.
One of my responsibilities at work is to manage a staff of about 40 secretaries. I’m the one they call when it’s necessary to call in sick.
We have three secretaries who cannot simply call in and say “I’m not feeling well and I won’t be in today.” They must give me a detailed description of everything that is wrong with me, including exact descriptions of the volume, consistency, temperature and color of anything that might be oozing out of any opening in their bodies. They’re also the most frequent users of sick leave, and each of the three of them has already exhausted their sick days for the year.
I’ve noticed a strong correlation between hypochondria and the amount of pleasure a person takes in describing their symptoms.
That is so very true. We have a person here at work that not only has at least one thing wrong with her a day but she insists on telling everyone about it. She never talks directly to me, which does not make a difference, as I still have to hear it as she wanders the halls telling anyone in the company who will listen. So depending on where I am in the building or outside the building (smoke break) I get to hear the same story several times a day as she tells her tales of woe. I swear she must write out a script and practice at home before she gets to work. It is the same story word for word and in grave detail.
See, I’m slightly hypochondriatic, but I’m also a little paranoid. I worry that if I just tell my boss “I’m not feeling well, I won’t be in today,” he’ll get all squinchy eyed and figure I’m (a) hung over, (b) sleeping in with the boyfriend (I wish) or © taking the day off for no good reason. So, I make myself feel better by explaining a few details.
Of course, sometimes all I have to say is: “food poisoning. You Do NOT Want To Know.” And that seems to be enough.