I did eventually get up this morning, with the kind help of my big strong husband. He looked at me and asked whether I could make it. I just laughed. It's not like I have much choice. Lack of choice is bad, but so is falling down dead.
Later this morning (in one of those interminable Tuesday meetings), I started thinking about a former boss who took the same line as the school in Filegirl's post today (which I didn't read until tonight, honest!). Of course, he was an Army officer, and I'm pretty sure that whole Yoda attitude is required for OCS graduation. Army officers say, "No excuses" and "There is no 'try'" all day long. Much as he irritated me, I'm sure my refusal to buy into his philosophy annoyed him more. 'Scuse me, sir, but if you'll notice, I never enlisted, and civilians don't have to put up with bullying, begging your pardon I'm sure, sir.
Then I started thinking about another boss I didn't get along with very well-- not an Army officer, an (ex-) NFL player. Same basic lack of sympathy and sensitivity, different haircut. When we were going through some massive layoffs and budget- and time-crunches a couple years ago, my direct supervisor (not coincidentally female) decided to stop asking nicely but obliquely for help and put the situation to him straight. "We are working ourselves to death," she said, and backed it up with medical documentation. So what does Mr. NFL Guy do? Does he hire us more help? Does he at least plead our case with the corporate masters? Shya. He goes around bragging that his team is suffering more than anyone else's. Big help, Irving.
If women are from Venus, men are from another galaxy altogether. Tell you what, though: my female supervisor and I are still alive and employed (and promoted), and Mr. NFL got waxed in the next round of layoffs. Now he knows the awful truth: Failure is TOO an option.