Tiny Fits of Rage

I’m leaving the market on Saturday, and I overhear woman say to the on-duty cop “Happy Saturday”. It was about a 40 yard walk from the door of the building to my car. And I was mumbling to myself during the entirety of that short walk “what the fuck is happy Saturday?”. Over and over. Once I closed my door, I lost it. “How the fuck do you wish someone a happy Saturday?” “On whose authority…” “ITS NOT A FUCKING HOLIDAY” “Bitch I had to work today, and I have to work tomorrow. Find some fucking happiness in that.” “FUCK IS YOU TALKIN BOUT LADY?!” It went on for about 3 minutes. It was hysteria, by definition. I mean, I wasn’t convulsing or anything. It was just me, talking aggressively to the steering wheel, mixed with some negro-giggles. I don’t have a wife or kids, so my free-time is whenever I feel like unplugging. And since I don’t really have to designate my joy/relief to a certain day of the week, I can’t fully relate to the “the weekends finally here” way of life that lots of people live. OR I’m just a grump. Don’t wish me a happy Saturday/Friday either way.

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