it’s Friday o’clock somewhere
and Stinky Dan’s not buyin’ nuthin’
What day is it dear reader?
Driving around delivering packages has been strange.
Two days ago, it was Tuesday.
I guess you could call that last sentence a Twofer. Twofer Tuesday…
But all that day, that Tuesday two days ago?
Ricky and I had a problem.
We were convinced that tomorrow was Friday.
Holy shit, am I ever glad this week is winding down Ricky said to me as I popped back into the truck.
What are you talkin’ about Jimmy you fool? Today’s only Tuesday.
Well fuck.
He was right.
I knew it was Tuesday.
Ricky knew it was Tuesday
We both knew it was Tuesday all day long, but everything about the day felt like Friday.
More than twice the two of us (on Tuesday) spontaneously exclaimed: Thank fucking tomorrow’s Friday.
We’d be enthusiastic in our agreement that Tuesday felt like Friday but must have been Thursday despite the fact that we hadn’t survived Wednesday yet.
Oh dear reader, there are so many days in the week that pass too slowly while the other days, the good days?
They just fly by.
But a big unifier around work is the notion of working for the weekend.
And Friday?
Friday is where blue collar and white collars can be united in singing along with Randy Bachman’s Taking Care of Business.
So Friday pulls together the hopes, dreams, lives and desires of the blue collar types vs the white collar crew.
But don’t ask me, listen to Ricky.
You always know when Stinky Dan’s been covering your route offered Ricky.
Stinky Dan?
I know dear reader, I know you’re thinking Jimmy you fool! Where are you taking us? Is this part of some blue collar vs white collar riff?
Let me begin by saying that Stinky Dan isn’t merely a delivery driver type.
Every class of people has their own Stinky Dan.
The hydrophobic teacher I worked with?
She was a Stinky Dan.
Back in Toronto I had a close Ethiopian friend.
He was smart. He was kind.
And sadly?
He was a Stinky Dan.
We used to go for Ethiopian Food. It was fucking horrible.
A bunch of mushy shit served for communal hand grabbing on a big fucking nasty plate.
How any country with such an infamous famine became so well known for their cuisine?
I used to ask my Stinky Dan friend that.
Here, we’ve taken the beans and the other shit you guys gave us by the boatload and smashed it into a paste.
And in our country, we LOVE it!
Of course Ethiopians probably love any food you’d give them. Well, that’s what I thought anyway.
Right?
Band Aid, Live Aid, USA for Africa, Tears are Not Enough? In the Eighties Ethiopia was how we were threatened as kids.
Eat your (fucking Brussels sprouts) there’s a famine in Ethiopia.
I heard that kind of stuff a lot as a kid.
But the point was’t about how I hate Ethiopian food. The point was about Stinky Dan.
Ricky, tell me how you know if Stinky Dan’s been covering your run?
Ricky paused, adjusted his nuts then spoke.
There are always a couple of piss jugs hiding in the back.
From there?
Ricky and I launched into a discourse on the nature and necessity of back of the truck pissing.
We both agreed that an extra large Tim Horton’s cup was optimal.
You just can’t let them sit Jimmy. They’ll either spill all over someone’s shit or the cup will eventually give out.
That’s right Ricky. Piss then pour it out the door.
Doing deliveries, they tell you to hydrate regularly.
But then what?
Well, that’s when you get creative.
And that’s the difference between white collar office work and blue collar work.
White collar workers use the bathroom as an escape from their desks and for the most part they pretty much know where they can go and pee.
Blue collar work requires a bit more creative flair.
Electricians, insulators, carpenters and plumbers?
They all piss in cups.
They leave their piss cups to hidden in the walls of all new construction. Do you live in a new condo? Somewhere deep within one of your walls is an ancient piss bottle waiting to burst.
Us delivery people are multi location pissers.
We piss off the end of the truck. We piss under bridges. We piss on the back wheel while traffic flies past.
Within the privacy of the back of the van, I’ve even filled two medium Tim Horton cups while Ricky was standing outside of the van but just inches from me taking the COD funds from an elderly couple who once worked at the University.
And that day dear reader?
I don’t know what day of the week it was but that was the day that I almost forgot to empty my second piss cup.
Sure, we’re all working for the weekend.
And many of us become so stuck in work that we forget what day it is.
And that sort of thing is fine - forgetting what day of the week it is.
But if you forget where it was that you left that second twelve ounce cup of warm, yellow piss?
Well…
That would be a piss off.
Stay salty dear reader.
It’s Friday o’clock somewhere.
