Stop Weakening My Weekend!

Brent,

Do you know what day today is?

This isn't rhetorical. And it's not some clever riddle. I'm honestly worried you don't understand calendars. So let me explain:

Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday are called "weekdays," and it's the time when most people are expected to work--or at the very least, be physically present at their place of employment. These 5 days are optimal for any questions, concerns, or general wonderments you might have for me. You can ask me things until you're blue in the face. (In fact, that last bit of imagery puts a big ol' smile on my face for some reason.)

But there are these other days. Two magical, enchanted days where the air smells better, the sun shines brighter, and where anything seems possible. These two soul-cleansing days join together to create the most beautiful word in the English language: weekend. Say it aloud, Brent. Doesn't it just roll off your tongue and float through your ears like it's being carried on the wings of the happiest butterfly in the world?

Today, Saturday, is Part 1 of this hallowed time. And you...you call me with...with a question about...

I don't even want to type the word. Because spelling it out would further destroy that pure feeling I had in my heart when I awoke this morning. But then--almost immediately after opening my eyes, sitting up in bed and screaming "Fuckin A, Saturdaaaaaaaay!" as per my usual routine--there you are on the screen of my phone. And you're not contacting me to invite me to brunch. You're not calling just to say, "Hey man, you've got the best head of hair I've ever seen! And I once met Bon Jovi!"

No, you're interrupting my bliss with a question about...the place which shall not be named.

How dare you taint this most sacred of two-day periods with your job-related curiosity! It has no place in any one of these 48 hours. If Sunday, at 11:54pm, a thought pops in your head that makes you think of work, go bash your head against a wall. Or bash a shot of tequila against the back of your throat. Or...you know, go to fucking sleep. But DO NOT ever transfer that thought onto anybody else, especially someone that has to see you the next day and will have easy access to your kneecaps.

Now please, go smell the roses. Or run naked through the mall singing Loverboy's classic ode to abandoning the 9 to 5 grind in favor of metaphorically grabbing the weekend by the nuts! But most importantly, keep that work bullshit off my phone.

Working For the Weekend,
Your coworker