Playing hooky from work is risky business. If you're calling in sick to enjoy a day of fun in the sun, you can't go back to the grind with a tan the next day. You have to cover yourself.
Triggered by an invitation to spend an impromptu weekend in San Diego, I once conspired to kill-off a fictitious Aunt Martha and fly back to my native Michigan to attend her make-believe funeral. I broke the sad news to my manager, who fell for it. I informed him that my family had found me a bereavement fare on a Southwest Airlines flight departing late that evening. He offered his sincere condolences and covered the shifts I said I'd have to miss.
The day I returned to work, my manager called me into his office.
"How's your family?" He asked.
"My mom's taking it pretty hard," I answered, straight-faced and somber. "She and Aunt Martha were so close," and- I thought to myself- probably out shopping together at that very moment.
"How was it flying Southwest?" My manager wanted to know more about my trip. At that time, the airline was new.
"Fine, no complaints." I avoided any specifics.
"Well, there's always something we can take away from every experience." He looked me in the eye, sighed, and levelled with me. "Southwest doesn't fly to Detroit."
He was right. In those days, they didn't. I was fired.
"There's a bright side to this." Mr. Manager finished up, showing me the door. "Aunt Martha just made a miraculous recovery."
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