Martyr Shit

KC, my bubbly work colleague, has been off for three weeks after having her appendix taken out. I’ve never had major surgery (or even minor surgery – the last time I was in hospital, I was being born) so I don’t know how long recovery takes, but I would imagine that if it hurts to drive and even to sit down, that it must be a bitch.

KC came back to work this week, stating that she was bored sitting around at home all day and raring to get back into the thick of things. She has been asked countless times how she is by our other colleagues, as is normal, and every time she sighs wistfully and says “well, I could be better” or “I’m not quite 100% yet” etc.

This may very well be true but in that case, how come she’s spent all this week at work chatting away to us about Celebrity Big Brother and barely doing a scrape of work? She is on lighter duties which means she’s pretty much desk-bound anyway but if she was really feeling that bad, why come back to work at all when you have a considerate doctor willing to dish out sick notes like Smarties? I know where I’d rather be.

KC is a lovely girl with a heart of gold but she is a classic martyr. When I questioned her about why she had come back if she felt ill, she told me that she felt “guilty” for being off work. But in turn, she makes everyone else feel guilty if they deign to ask her to do something covered by her job description.

I can’t be the only one this is annoying. The thing is with KC, everybody likes her and she gets away with murder. She is the only staff member I know who can have her ‘phone on her desk and not have it on Silent, who can take personal ‘phone calls from her mum and sister several times a day and who once nipped out on an errand for the surgery and got her nails done.

What a woman. I just wish she’d stay at home until she’s 100% better, because I can’t be doing with the martyr shit, no matter how much I like the girl underneath.

This entry was posted in Miss Ranty Pants, The Curse of the Drinking Classes. Bookmark the permalink.

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