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July 28, 2017 / themrtinney

Beaver Tails… or… Working Saturday Sucks!

My dog crapped on the deck and I have to work Saturday so I’m pretty much having the worst life that anyone has ever had.  I’m sure there are some other tough situations out there, but they are not mine, so that qualifies mine as worst.  This is my logic – you can disagree if you enjoy being wrong.

I left work today with the knowledge that it was Fake Friday.  I have three ‘real’ Fridays, where Saturday morning comes and the hangover I have is about 212% less prominent because I slept until 10am.  Then there is Fake Friday, where I wake up at 6am because I have to work that Saturday and I feel like my head is being bludgeoned by two giant badger tails keeping rhythm to a dubstep tune that only they can hear.  I don’t mind badgers… but lord do I hate dubstep.

So you would probably recommend that on Fake Friday, I don’t stay up until 3am drinking Crown Royal shots and chugging beer bottles like I’m trying to break a world record.  There you are being wrong again.  You see, our four fathers (yes, mainly four – like Washington, Lincoln, Nixon and maybe Justin Bieber) created America to be just the kind of place where you can stay up all night on Friday and not be punished by work the next morning.

That’s what working Saturday really is: punishment.  It’s like water-boarding, only mostly more dry.  It’s like being grounded to your room as an adult only your room has a work desk, computer and some guy named Adam who wants his oil changed.  Well no, Adam, I don’t want to help you change your oil on Saturday.  I’d rather be asleep while those beavers get exhausted trying to pound my brain to mush because I don’t wake up until they are finished, Adam.

If I were to write an open letter to Adam about having to come to work on a Saturday just so he can get an oil change it would look something like this:

Dear Adam:  Nope.

I don’t want to get up at 6am.  My alarm should be set for “beaver-tails have vacated the area:30” or not even set at all.   So trying to be wrong (again) you might say, “hey, Mr. Tinney – you signed up for these work hours when you took the job!  Why complain now, pal?!”  My response is three-fold – although it’s not really folded unless you print this page and fold it:

  1.  I am not your pal (depending on who you are.  If your name is Adam and you enjoy rollerblading, long walks on the beach and oil changes on Saturday I am definitely not.)
  2. Regret is a constitutionally protected right.  One of the Amendments says something about tyranny and not working on Saturdays.  If it doesn’t, it was supposed to; and
  3. Shut up.

So anyway… I have to go.  It’s Fake Friday and those beavers aren’t going to show-up if I don’t water my liver, Adam.

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