I got a hundred dollars smokin' in my billfold
I know I oughta save it, but it's burnin' a hole
Right through my pocket and into my skin
Come Monday morning, I'll be broke again
It's finally Friday, I'm free again
I got my motor running for a wild weekend
It's finally Friday, I'm outta control
Forget the workin' blues and let the good times roll
GEORGE JONES, "Finally Friday"
I have read that Friday afternoon is the most dangerous time to be on the highway. The reason for that is obvious. People get so excited about the weekend to the point that they are about to bust. In their exuberance, they hurt and kill themselves and each other. I call this exuberance the "Friday Night Ass Itch." It is the desire to go to town and show their asses.
I live in absolute dread of the Friday Night Ass Itch. I try to not be on the road during this time. This is before the first drinks are poured from the bottle. The anticipation is more intoxicating than the actual fun. These idiots don't want to waste one precious second of that fun. Nevermind that they waste what is left of their lives in vehicular manslaughter.
By Saturday night, the exuberance has abated. You still have to deal with drunks on the road, but this is later in the evening after the bars close. Most of the pressure and steam has been blown off the night before. The ass itch has been scratched. The worst offenders are already in the county lockup.
I live an intentionally boring life. This normally happens as you get older. My idea of excitement on a Friday night is to watch an old movie with the wife and eat some popcorn. I am not a drinker. By the time the show ends, I am exhausted and go to bed long before any bars in town have closed. At night, I can hear the distant sirens from police cars, ambulances, and fire trucks as they go out to clean up the Friday night mess.
Instead of partying, I sit in the dark and listen to the Red Cup Country Weekend on my vintage Sony Walkman radio. The playlist was created for the party crowd, and I like to listen to the anthems about bonfires, pickup trucks, and Yetis full of good ideas. I have more fun listening to the party on that radio than I ever did in my youth doing the real thing.
My town turns ridiculous on the weekends. Boomers and bikers get on their Harleys and tear down the road making as much noise as possible. The bass boat crowd load up their gear to head to the lake. The off-road crowd bring out their ridiculous Jeeps. Everyone else loads up mountain bikes and kayaks on roof racks that will never touch the trail or the water. But it all looks good. The more sedate crowd goes to the high dollar steak and bourbon place to blow money on expensive food and drink. During the Concussion Ball season, high school, college, and pro games are the top entertainment.
I don't know if these folks are having a good time or just pretending to have a good time. I suspect they are just pretending. Listening to the party is more fun than being at the party. I don't know why that is the case, but it is the case. My life at home is more pleasurable than anything I could do in town on a Friday night. I am pretending to have a good time. I think they are pretending to have a good time, too. The difference is that I don't pay the cost or suffer the consequences.
