Why I Hate Fridays
Once a week, I come home from work and open Gmail to find this:
Initially, I wonder why everyone is offline. Then I remember that it’s past office hours. People aren’t on gtalk, they’re on Facebook!
I skip over to Facebook to check what everyone is up to, preparing to defend my wall against snarky and witty comments from “friends”:
Nothing. No new activity.
This is impossible. Where are the narcissistic pictures of people from flattering and totally misleading angles? The check-ins at expensive places? The cat videos? The sappy, LOVE-YOU-BEH posts from people who just a month ago swore never to fall in love again?!
Is Facebook down? Is the world ending? Are zombies finally walking the earth?
I check my RSS feed for news of a technological disaster or zombie apocalypse:
No sensationalist, doomsday articles like “Facebook Down: Is This The End of Social Media?” or “Man Caught Munching On Someone’s Arm – Is the ZA Finally Here?”
Everything is quiet. Unusually so. Not even a small article about how Apple plans to innovate by making the iPhone’s screen 0.0001 mm wider.
Déjà vu sets in and I start to panic. Because I’ve seen this before and I know what will happen next: I shall open Twitter and confirm my worst fears.
I quickly scan the hashtags: drinking, partying, dating… I grab a calendar just to be sure.
Yep. It’s Friday night. Again.
Everyone is busy having a life. Again.
Everyone except me. Again.
I click desperately on the refresh icon, waiting for a new email. A new notification. A new post… but nothing comes except a crushing sense of loneliness.
In the pits of depression, I do the only thing I could. Despite knowing that it’s useless. Despite swearing that I’ll never do it again:
I hold a giant pizza party for myself.
I pass out between the 9th and 10th slices and wake up the morning after with a massive bacon pizza hangover. The sight of the giant box reminds me of my stupidity and once again, I promise never ever to repeat last night’s recklessness.
And with each bite of cold, leftover pizza for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, my hatred for Friday grows and grows.