A Few Friday Dregs

It is, at long last, Friday and we can finally let our hair down.

Assuming one has the sort of hair that can be let down.

My hair is always up, and cannot be let down for love nor money.  The closest it ever gets to being down is when it is dripping wet, or if I have a particularly bad case of bed-head and it is plastered against my scalp like shag carpeting that has had a piano sitting on it for several years.

In either case, I cannot leave the house looking like that for fear of being downed by a tranquilizer dart; a gift from my fair city’s team of crack animal control specialists.  They are a bit trigger-happy, which has made me jittery and skittish when I have to leave the house in the morning before I have had my hair-fluffing shower.

But I am not here to talk to you about hair (even though that’s exactly what I have been doing).

No, I’m here to talk to you about the joys of Friday.

Friday is always full of joys … and ones that are even better than being tranq-darted on the way to work in the morning.

The best part about Friday is that while I am at work, I get the pleasure of anticipating all day long the fact that it will soon be 5:00 and I can officially begin the weekend.  And so is everyone else.

It is like a sort of madness comes over everyone, but it is the good-natured, jovial kind of madness.

People who normally will not even say hi to you in the hallway after you have said hi to them first, will suddenly be pounding you on the back and asking you if you have any weekend plans.

People who have not spoken to you in months will suddenly stick their head in your office to tell you that someone brought donuts and set them in the break area.

They will then camp out in your office telling you of their mundane plans for the weekend for so long that all the donuts will be gone by the time you finally make it to the break area.

People will actually talk to you on the elevator instead of staring straight ahead like a mannequin or a customer service representative.

Upper management, who rarely leave their offices to mingle with the little people, will venture out of their lairs, shielding their eyes from the light, and attempt to make small talk with us commoners.  The conversation with Upper Management (UM) goes like this:

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UM:  Hey!  Bill!  How ya’ doing?”

Me:  It’s Biff.  And it’s going great, Mr. Bunzastiel.  How are you?

UM:  Fantastic!  I’ll be mucking about on my new 90 foot yacht this weekend.  How about you?  Do you have a yacht?

Me:  No, I have a 12 year old Honda Civic.  And I’ll be spending most of the weekend out working in the yard.

UM:  I should give you the name of my yard guy.  He’s cheap.  His team does our entire 12 acres in like an hour.  And can you believe he only charges a thousand dollars a week?  Ha ha!  What a steal, eh?”

Me:  Oh yeah, that’s quite a bargain.  I can’t currently cut my yard because my little girl doesn’t want me mow down the Dandelions because the rabbits like to eat them.

UM:  Speaking of rabbits, did I tell you about my safari into deepest Africa last summer?  It was amazing.  We went spooring for galago.  The kids wanted to pet one.  Have you ever had okapi?”

Me.  I can’t say that I have.

UM:  It tastes kinda like greater kudu.

Me: Well, we usually just order off the dollar menu at the drive-through.

UM:   Excellent!  Well, you have a good weekend, Bill.

Me:  Biff.

UM:  And keep up the good work.   You’re one of the cogs that keep the machinery of the company humming along smoothly.

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So not everything about Friday is great.  Getting reminded that one is little more than an insignificant cog in a Rube Goldberg contraption is not necessarily an ego-stroker.

But it’s okay.  It’s Friday!