“Dialogue Between Friday Me and Monday Me,” by M. Blake

May 30th, 2018 | By | Category: Fake Nonfiction, Prose

FRIDAY ME: Walking into the office just now, I felt this unexpected rush of gratitude and optimism. I can’t pinpoint why, exactly. Maybe it was the flowers in the courtyard or the friendly faces of our co-workers. Whatever the case, I’m so happy to be alive and to have this job, and I can truly say to you, “Good morning, brother.”

MONDAY ME: That’s such an odd phrase. Have you ever thought about it, I mean really thought about it?

FRIDAY ME: Can’t say I have. Why?

MONDAY ME: Well, there’s nothing inherently good about this morning, or any other time, actually. The concepts of good and evil are mere value judgments we impose on a senseless world we don’t understand.

FRIDAY ME: Wow, looks like you could use a pick-me-up. I’d be happy to stroll over to the kitchenette and pour you a cup of coffee. The management committee recently approved a single-serve Keurig machine. Fantastic or what? I’ve been itching to use it.

MONDAY ME: No. Coffee would only make me more awake, awake to the absurdity inherent in all things: the pointless team meetings, the computer glitches that erase my work, how the people across the hall yawn and sneeze as if they’re screaming… Just let me sit here alone and daydream about the sweet nectar of non-existence.

FRIDAY ME: Are you sure? Studies show coffee can enhance your mood. A cup a day makes the frowns go away. A cup a day keeps the grimaces at bay. A cup a day renders discontent passé. Does that last one even make sense? A cup a day… A cup… Shoot, no more rhymes.

(MONDAY ME stares at FRIDAY ME with a murderous expression.)

FRIDAY ME: Do you know what else can enhance your mood? A work-appropriate hug. It’s like a real hug, but with more distance between our pelvic regions. Come here. Let me show you how it works.

MONDAY ME: No, don’t. I’m already nauseous and I’ll vomit if you touch me. I don’t mean I’ll puke a little in my mouth and then swallow it, which I’ve already done countless times this morning. I’m referring to Exorcist-style vomiting. In other words, if you touch me, I’ll splatter pea soup across the walls.

FRIDAY ME: Your attitude, it’s so unfortunate.

MONDAY ME: Is that so? What about your attitude? Don’t you understand that Friday just means you’re another day closer to Monday? That should terrify you.

FRIDAY ME: You know, I wasn’t planning on giving an inspirational speech this early in the morning, I truly wasn’t, but you leave me no choice.

MONDAY ME: What are you doing?

(FRIDAY ME stands on a chair.)

MONDAY ME: Are you fucking serious?

FRIDAY ME: Hear ye, hear ye! Me doth deliver unto thee great news about the privileges of labor! Behold news so splendid that thou shalt shaketh with joy in thine business-casual pants!

MONDAY ME: Oh my God, you’re having a manic episode.

FRIDAY ME: In all honesty, I didn’t prepare a speech per se, but I did jot down some inspirational work-related quotes I found on Twitter. Listen up.


(FRIDAY ME unfolds a sheet of paper.)

MONDAY ME: Please stop and get down. Don’t make me beg.

FRIDAY ME: “The only way to do great work is to love what you do.” Steve Jobs said that. Steve. Motherfucking. Jobs.

MONDAY ME: I don’t deserve this. Where’d I go wrong?

FRIDAY ME: “I can do things you cannot, you can do things I cannot; together we can do great things.” That was Mother Teresa, or my mom. I can’t remember.

(MONDAY ME looks out the window, longingly.)

FRIDAY ME: “We don’t use the term ‘working class’ here because it’s a taboo term. You’re supposed to say ‘middle class,’ because it helps diminish the understanding that there’s a class war going on.” That’s Noam Chomsky. I’m not sure why I picked that quote, in hindsight. It must have sounded right at the time.

MONDAY ME: I’m leaving.

FRIDAY ME: Where are you going?

MONDAY ME: I don’t know. Maybe I’ll lock myself in the maintenance closet, drink some bleach.

FRIDAY ME: Well, I can’t stop you from sulking, but if you decide to go to the maintenance closet, you really should stop first at the kitchenette and check out the new Keurig machine. It’s glorious, in a religious sort of way.

MONDAY ME: What’s wrong with you?

WEDNESDAY ME: Will you two shut up? I can’t concentrate. This is the one day of the week I actually work.

FRIDAY ME: I’m sorry, truly.

MONDAY ME: Sorry, not sorry.


M. Blake’s humor pieces and short stories have appeared in McSweeney’s Internet Tendency, Necessary Fiction, and many other places. If you would like to read more of his work, you can reach him at mbbfic@gmail.com.

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