The overcast, dismal Friday in March proved to be a promising one. The DJ was back from grieving, the RedBull was just the right amount of cold and fizzy, the doughnuts were gooey and sweet. This dismal Friday was proving to be a good one. The gas tank read empty, the wallet rendered cobwebs, and payday was a week away, yet somehow this day, this dismal, dark, and gloomy Friday seemed as though it was going to be ok. The boss was away and the children were sure to behave as if, for once, this uncivilized cell of brick and mortar had suddenly become the epiphany of light and goodness. Perhaps this was because I was the only one in the building. This may have clouded my judgement, but on this Friday I will take it. I will take the fact that as soon as the cars show up and the town awakens, the sun breaks through and the birds start chirping, that this Friday will be like any other; filled with rushed co-workers, snotty emails, complaints from other departments, wrong numbers, and contracts that refuse to add correctly. It will be filled with missing copy and “I need this yesterday”‘s. It will be overrun with underpaid people and overflowing coffee cups.
But it’s Friday. Friday at the station. Friday in front of a computer screen. Friday drowning in caffeine and sugar to just slump through the day. Friday to make it to the weekend. Friday to just survive another Friday.
Soon the cars will be filling the parking lot, people will be rushing to the printer, and copy will flood the Production Office. Soon the day will be dragging on as the energy levels plummet and the realization that quotas have not been met set in. Soon we all be at each others throats and trying to sneak a peak at everyone’s billing. Soon we will be defeated. And eventually everyone will be leaving. We will be going home or going to the bar. Soon we will be trying to forget for a short two days that we are salespeople and DJ’s and Production Managers and Accountants. Soon we will be anyone but who we really are. Soon it will be Monday before we know it and the vicious cycle of adulthood will resume as though nothing has changed. And inevitably soon we will all be dead.
So, as the saying goes, we must trudge on. Through the monotony, through the mud and the muck, all for eternal salvation in a world unknown. We must “keep on truckin'”. We must keep moving. We must survive, if only for another Friday. Or something like that.