Well, I did it. I used my son.
Yep. That was me. I did it. And, before you go freaking out on me and thinking, 'How did he use his son? As a wrench to fix a car motor? As fill in for a trapeeze act? As a faux organ grinder monkey to trick tourists out of hard earned money? WHAT?! WHAT???!!!"... Relax. It wasn't like that at all. I didn't involve monkeys (or Davey Jones), weird circus people (again, Davey Jones) or a car motor. It involved Sam, a non-threatening medical condition, and me not wanting to go to work.
That's right. I called in sick using Sam not so much as an excuse, but more like an example, or as I like to put it, a partner in crime. I totally Ferris Buellered via Sam, if you will.
But, the trick to correctly achieving a Ferris Bueller is setting up a good scenario to fake sick or fake concerned. A lot of you readers are probably thinking that using your son to get out of work is pretty low, but let me throw a question at you: Would you rather go to work in the middle of the night as one of your two jobs, and hate every living minute, or would you like to stay home, play with your son in the middle of the night, and assist your wife/husband/partner/rowing instructor with getting some sleep?
I rest my case.
So, with a blessing from my rowing instructor, I sprung into action. When calling in sick, if you just say that you are sick the person you're calling might pose one or all of the following questions:
1) What's wrong with you?
2) Do you have a doctor's note?
3) You do understand that if you don't come into work, you're fired, right?
4) Who are you again?
So, to avoid the embarassing scenario of actually 'lying', you create a scene that is so compelling that it is almost true. In order to do this, you need the following:
1) A telephone.
2) A rehearsed panicked voice.
3) A rowing instructor that will assist/shake their head at you.
4) A baby that will cry like a timebomb as they're having their diaper changed.
First, set the scene. Bring the phone, baby, and rowing instructor close to you. Set the baby on the changing table. Dial the number. On the second ring, remove the baby's diaper, then start breathing heavily. When someone answers, with a breathy but and slightly agitated yet concerned voice, ask for the lead on duty.
While waiting for the phone to go through, ignore your partner's head shaking and begin to pace the room to increase heart rate. When a person answers, move back into the baby, letting the crying be heard loud and clear, then speak quickly saying, "I'MCALLINGINSICKBECAUSEMYSONISSICKANDIDON'TKNOWWHAT'SWRONGANDIHAVETOTAKEHIMTOTHEDOCTORIMMEDIATELY!"
Pause.
Let the worried lead on duty respond and, if you're lucky, say, "Okay, buddy. Good luck." Then hang up, return to the baby, quickly change his/her diaper, and toss him/her in the air for good luck and measure. Continue to ignore your partner's head shaking.
And, that, ladies and gentlemen, is how you set the scene and get out of work.
But, I don't want you to think that I'm ungrateful and teaching my child how to avoid responsibility. Rather, I'm teaching Sam that sometimes, you know, life just moves pretty fast, and if you don't stop and look around once in a while, you just might miss it. Oh, and Sam totally gets a Ferris Bueller day whenever he wants one. And, you better believe that I'm going to be his Cameron. If Sam needs a Ferrari, you better believe I'll show up with one (or a 2002 Nissan Sentra, but hey, it's still vintage), driving cap and all. And, off we'll go to explore Chicago (Kansas City, MO/KS) and possibly be in a parade. I owe him that much.
And, then, there's the aftermath. What to do when you return to work the next evening. This, readers, I was unprepared for.
As I was stocking shelves with broken items, the manager and assistant manager approached me. Part of me knew what was coming, but the other part was hoping that they would fire me so I could go home and see my family (and break something on the way out).
They approached and asked the dreaded question, "How is your son doing?"
Many things raced through my head: 'He's still sick', 'The doctor said that I need to stay home more often', 'Well, funny story, he actually turned out to be an X-Man'... But, no. I knew they wouldn't believe any of it. And since I don't like to lie, I told a story based on truth.
See, Sam was born with a condition called hypospadius. No, it is not what you're thinking. I thought the same thing when I first heard that, too, you know, that he had razor sharp spades that retracted from his hands, not unlike Wolverine's claws, and that he indeed was an X-Man. But, alas, it was something wrong with his penis. And, what makes people more uncomfortable than talking about penises (with the possible exception of talking about vaginas)?
So, instead of merely stating that he had hypospadius, and that he had a doctor's appointment in the morning (which was all true), the following sentence came out of my mouth:
"He's better. He has... oh... how can I put this? You see, when he was born, his PENIS was shaped like this (hold up crooked finger), and because his PENIS is shaped like that, he has problems having BOWEL MOVEMENTS and it hurts when he PEES (re-emphasize the shape of the penis through finger gestures for a little bit longer than necessary)."
And, then, sticking to the Ferris Bueller fashion that had gotten me into these awkward conversations, I added, "And, so I have to leave early this morning to take my son to the UROLOGIST." That part, was actually true, I just added it for good measure.
They nodded, said they hope he gets better, and walked on. Another story told, another broken fantasy about storming out of Target in the middle of the night, throwing things along the way.
As soon as I began to smile, however, irony kicked me in the face. Not only did I not get to leave with almost everyone else at 3am, I had to stay a little longer than anticipated. Thus, Target won... again. And, maybe making up stories is not such a great idea. Hmm... Nah. A night with the family beats a night at work any day. So, suck it, Target!
But, all was forgiven when I was able to get home and cuddle with my son and the rowing instructor before the doctor's appointment. A doctor, who shall now be introduced as Dr. Hamburglar.
For those wondering what hypospadius really is, it is a more common than you think condition in which the tip of the male's penis is bent, and added to that, Sam has cordie(y?, welsh corgy?), which is a little tendon that is pulling the penis down. In severe cases the ureththra can actually go all the way down to the anus, but thankfully, Sam's just kind of looks like a ben mushroom... well, a European bent mushroom, since he has yet to be circumsized.
The one good thing about Oklahoma City is that they have a great children's urology program. You can tell this from the fact that the doctor that will be helping Sam is of Swedish descent, because, seriously, why else would you give up the beauty of Sweden for the life of luxury that is downtown Oklahoma City?
But, before we got to the good doctor, we were treated to a very nice intern. When the intern entered, for some strange reason, I noted that his shirt, like the other intern's in the hall, was wrinkled. I thought it strange because I just assumed that a nice shirt should be ironed, especially if they're a doctor and can afford to have an ironing service. While the good intern was explaining what hypospadius was, he was prodding a very calm Sam, when he began asking about Sam's urinating, what the stream looks like, etc. When we answered that everything was normal, the intern was then shown an example of Sam's urinating prowess, by being peed on by Sam, full stream, thus dampening his shirt, simultaneously answering my question as to why they're shirts were full of wrinkles.
The only question to be asked at that point in time was, "You guys have a locker full of those shirts, right?"
The only answer to be had was, "Oh, yeah. Yes."
After the intern was drenched with pee, he went to bring in Dr. Hamburglar (name changed due to hilarity, but rest assured, berger is in his name somewhere). The good doctor was a middle aged man, with a a balding, blonde head of hair, and Dr. Ruth's voice, but in baritone. He began to address us on the surgery procedure in which he said,
"Zee skeen vill be slid down zee peenis like a glove, spun around, and re-attached, to feel een for zee missing skeen, after he is zircumzized."
He went on to explain that the surgery is a purely prosthetic surgery, and zat zee function of zee peenis will be normal. When Rachel asked the question about it's use later in life and the function, zee guut doctor began to give us a lecture on the birds and zee bees, complete with hand gestures and illustrations of what a crooked penis might look like going into a vagina.
It was at this point that I had to turn my attention to 'The Sandlot 2' playing on the television, because the hilarity of the Swedish doctor giving a sex lecture, plus the pee covered intern, was a wee (pun intended) too much.
So, in six months, Sam will be healthy, circumsized, and Adam will have to think of other ways to have Sam assist him in getting out of work. A few ideas are in the works, such as:
1) My son's foreskin fell off, because we are European in belief system, we need to go immediately and have it re-attached.
2) My son is holding his mother hostage with crying.
3) We've rented a Ferrari and the day is too nice to spend it with you, so, suck it Target!
Well, something along those lines. Thanks again, Sam
(Above: Sam, Mom, & Dad)
