Plague season

I wish I'd brought in a hammer and some nails today, because Ted E. is going to want to do his martyr act in an hour or so when reality begins to penetrate his skull (it's a slow process, akin to fossilisation).

The Invertebrate has phoned in sick, which means Ted E. will be even less manageable than usual   (he only ignores what The Invertebrate tells him 30% of the time, compared to 90% with me).  By itself that's not a huge issue, though, because over the last year we've progressively pulled away most of the real work from him because he simply can't be relied on to do any of it consistently or accurately. The only real challenge with managing Ted E.'s workload is to keep him from messing up everyone else's work, because not understanding any of it has never stopped him disliking how it's done and trying to change it without telling anyone what he's up to.

However, there's a message on The Invertebrate's phone that I can't access (because he's never shared his voicemail password) which I suspect will be the Stress Fiend saying she's sick today, too.  Ted E. was already grumbling because she took two rec. days last week after he'd been on holiday for a week and a half, so the thought of her having another day off appears to be more than he can bear.  He has strong philisophical issues with the concept of other people having time off, presumably because he can't answer any questions without someone to tell him the answers first and ends up having to admit that to the clients he's trying so hard to impress.

I have to leave early today to collect a child from school (one of my own, rather than a random selection).  I told him this an hour ago, but that was before he realised the Stress Fiend probably wasn't going to show.  Whether it's actually sunk in yet that he'll be here alone for an hour and a half this afternoon is doubtful, but when it does his reaction will be neither graceful nor mature.