I’ve never been a fan of Weekends and the “thank-god-liness” of Fridays has always been lost on me. I have only ever had shitty jobs where I had to work Saturdays or Sundays or both days and when I ran my shop those were our busiest days, so I couldn’t justify giving myself those days off.
In my wild drug-filled partying days, the weekends were the worst because they brought out all the amateur drinkers and weekend party-ers. On the weekends the coke was crap. The weed was bunk. You had to walk an extra couple of blocks just to get any kind of quality and you had to seek out the smallest neighborhood bar to find a Bridge & Tunnel free zone. “No! I don’t know where you can score some pot. Go back to New Jersey Fucker!” So, I never much liked the weekends.
My girlfriend and I lived for a while in Austin, TX. A fantastic city. In the Austin area they have one of largest bat populations in the world. At the precise moment that the sun disappears under the horizon thousands of tiny bats explode out from under the bridges from the tunnels and caves all around the city in a dramatic and breathtaking sea of black against the blood-red Texas sunset. It was beautiful to behold… at least I’d been told. We had never seen it. I was new to the city and even though she had lived there for years, she had never bothered to check it out. So one Saturday afternoon we both decided to go and witness the spectacle that is “The Waking of The Bats.” But moments before we had left, before we’d even gotten to the car, we both had the same thought at about the same time.
“Oh man, it’s Saturday.” I said disappointed, thinking that the bats probably slept in on the weekends.
“We’ll just have to go Monday.” she agreed.
A few seconds later we realized the error in our thinking and we both felt stupid.
Nature doesn’t know what day of the fucking week it is!
I have tried, with some success, to teach my cat to appreciate the weekend. I feed her the dry cat food normally. Its better for her teeth and for her coat. But on weekends I give her the canned food. She likes the cans better and gets excited when she hears the can opener (Ha. You have no thumbs, kitty. Can’t open the can by yourself). So after doing this for a little over a year, she now knows when it’s the weekend (or she’s learned to count to 5). My routine never changes no matter what day it is. I wake the same time. I feed the cat. I work out. Same shit different day. But she wakes me up on Saturday mornings with a renewed vigor reserved just for the end of the week. “Get up now. Give me my can food now. Open that can now. Now god damn it. Now.” (Less “Now” more “Meow” but you get the idea) because she totally knows that it’s Saturday. Same thing on Sunday. And by Monday she’s back to cursing God for her lack of thumbs.
Mother Nature doesn’t give a shit about the weekend and neither do I.