Protecting my work colleagues from a virus.

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Right, so I’ve come down with this rare, highly contagious, completely undetectable virus. No symptoms. None. I feel absolutely fine. Which is exactly why it’s so dangerous. It’s stealthy. Like a ninja. A ninja with a clipboard and a passive-aggressive cough. And the only known cure according to absolutely no medical professional is fresh air. Not antibiotics, not bed rest, not fluids. Just standing outside like a confused pensioner waiting for a bus that doesn’t exist.

Now, I could’ve gone into work, right? Sat there, breathing my invisible plague into the communal air like some sort of biological sprinkler system. But I’m not a monster. I care. I care deeply. I care so much I’ve decided to quarantine myself in the beer garden of a pub. For the greater good. Pint in hand. Vitamin D on the face. Heroic, really.

And I know what you’re thinking “You’re just skiving.” No. No, I’m not skiving. I’m sacrificing. I’m sacrificing my time, my productivity, and my dignity to protect my colleagues from a virus so elusive it doesn’t even show up on Google. I typed in “symptomless virus cured by fresh air” and it just redirected me to a mindfulness blog and a photo of Gwyneth Paltrow holding a crystal.

I even emailed HR. Said, “Look, I’m not coming in today. I’ve got this thing. It’s airborne. It’s silent. It’s basically the James Bond of viruses. And I wouldn’t want to infect the team.” They replied with a thumbs-up emoji and a link to the company wellness portal, which is just a PDF of a man doing yoga next to a cactus.

So here I am. Isolated. Alone. Except for the dog walkers and the occasional jogger who looks at me like I’ve just escaped from a wellness retreat. But I’m doing my bit. I’m flattening the curve. Of what, I don’t know. But it’s definitely being flattened.

Anyway,as I told them I’ll be back in on Monday. Unless the virus mutates. In which case, I might need to self-isolate in a hammock. Near a beach. With cocktails. For science.

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