I’m growing to think of Thursday as a gremlin that sits in the corner watching you, beckoning you into it’s confidence and you look at it thinking it is the start of the end – turns out to be the end of the beginning instead. Don’t feed it or get water on it as it quickly mutates from that cute fluffy gateway to the weekend into the “S#!t it’s Friday tomorrow and you need to meet deadlines” kind of day.
That pile of things you “filed” away somewhere on your desk are now being asked for and for the life of you their purpose or how to complete them has been buried underneath all the other pointless stuff you have had to remember since you were told. So to the emails and you search for a guide or a hint of what you can do with these strange pieces of paper. the clock’s ticking has almost stopped and you only notice the occasional movement. It’s the slowest point of the week – except for Friday itself.
And the excitement of Friday’s arrival is celebrated as if a long-lost friend is coming to visit instead of the truth of the fifth working day in a row. I suppose it depends on the perspective but for me the only relief comes at the end of Friday leaving the building for home knowing I won’t be back for a couple of days. To many it has become the weekly equivalent of the last day of term in school but this is only true in some businesses or organisations as for many it’s just another day that means work has to be completed.
To dismiss it is foolish and invites in that awkward moment when you are asked to do something on your day off but at work. Bacon butties and a lunch out do not an early weekend make. The look of confusion from a co-worker who has to deal with a phone call or email around 4pm is always entertaining as they switched off yesterday lunchtime. That’s the danger of a Thursday.
That rush from Monday to Thursday just to have a positive feeling on a Friday says a lot about us as a nation and our approach to the working week – it can’t be a positive thing, but it does explain or collective move to the pub for a celebratory lemonade or two. But we’re not there yet and we have eight or so hours to navigate through tomorrow. Like any horror film you know that you are not safe until the final credits finish and the lights come up in the cinema.
Don’t say you weren’t warned