After much badgering from my devoted followers – all five of them – I’ve decided to continue on with my personality analyses of the days of the week. Today’s victim – Friday.
Friday, that day sandwiched between Thursday and Saturday (as always, thank you Wikipedia). He’s arguably the most beloved day of the week with ardent worshipers numbering in the millions. They come together to sing his praises with Facebook statuses, cute tweets declaring TGIF, and, of course, with songs. The Cure fell in love on Friday, Nancy Sinatra proclaimed herself “Friday’s Child” in this bluesy offering, and who can forget tween internet pop “sensation” Rebecca Black’s Friday masterpiece? You know you know what I’m talking about. You were just like me – fixated on the YouTube video like a rubbernecker ogling a car wreck on the freeway.
But all this unabashed adoration is misguided. Friday is perhaps the saddest, most pathetic day of the week, maybe even more so than slutty Tuesday. Unless you’re Scottish, that is. It seems Friday is a very good day to plant potatoes in Scotland. Who knew? All in all, though, Friday, is bad news. Just ask any of those camp counselors who thought it was a good idea to go out to Camp Crystal Lake on a Friday. Didn’t end well for them now, did it? No, it didn’t – not even after twelve tries.
Friday wasn’t always like this – a pathetic shell of his former self, wreaking havoc throughout the masses. In fact, he started out life with such hope and promise. Friday was popular, the star of the Varsity football team with rugged good looks that drove the ladies wild. At his side, the best wingman a guy could ask for – Thursday. But as it happens sometimes with these promising young stars that society elevates to God-like heights, it all went to his head. He became egotistical and cavalier, believing himself invincible and above the rules that governed the common man. Everyone loved him, after all. He could do no wrong; and even if he did, Thursday was there to clean up the fallout.
But Karma is a fickle bitch and soon it would all come crashing down around his ears. First to go was the scholarship to that big ten conference college – a blown knee suffered not on the football field but during a midnight cow tipping prank on Old Mr. October’s farm. Next to fall by the wayside – his girl, Sunday. She was a religious girl, holy in her upbringing. Her father was a reverend at local Episcopalian church. Friday’s erratic and irresponsible behavior simply could be tolerated no more – it went against everything she believed in. She broke up with him via text message as she boarded a plane to India to begin a six month pilgrimage to find inner peace. Emotionally stunted, Friday was ill-equipped to deal with such harsh rejection and thus, turned to drinking to drown his sorrows. As these things often do, drinking progressed to drunkenness and before you know it, Friday was whoring around with women from Sassy June’s Gentlemen Club every night, leaving a trail of self-destruction in his wake. It was more than Thursday could handle and so he walked away from his friend, as well.
Now, Friday can be found every night of the week down at the local pub. His good looks gone, replaced with a body worn and weary from years of hard living and overindulgence. He sits at the end of the bar, empty beer glasses all around, and waits. He knows that soon the end of the week will arrive and all of his worshipers will pile into this smoke-filled dive to once again pay homage to the man he used to be – the man they still believe exists. He will bask in the glow of their adoration, and feel a temporary resurgence of what it had been like all those year ago. He will walk down memory lane with them and tell exaggerated stories of his wild escapades, relishing in their undivided attention. He will feel whole once again.
Inevitably, though, the night must end. His admirers will leave as they are wont to do, and Friday will have to drag his drunk ass home. As the sun dawns bright and early Saturday morning, he will be awaken by a slamming hangover and the seductive caress of slutty Tuesday wearing a hockey mask and brandishing a bloody machete.
“Revenge is sweet and non fattening.” Alfred Hitchcock (1899-1980).