Without a sound, Wednesday crept up on Tuesday, and engulfed it in its embrace. When the warm waves of Wednesday quieted, Tuesday had vanished. And thus Wednesday reigned. But when Thursday arrived, Wednesday receded with characteristic silence and grace, acquiescing to the new day.

Labels: Wednesday

"You don't think this day is the slightest bit significant?"

"What? Because at some point, a group of people set in place a system of recording time that would yield a day that would be known as 9-9-9? No, of course not."

"Not even when I point out that it's a Wednesday?"

"What's that got to do with it?"

"Wednesday is the third day of the week--"

"--ah!--"

"--the workweek. And three squared is nine. Three threes is nine."

"And three nines are twenty-seven. Still, completely meaningless."

"Even in Europe, it's 9-9-9 today."

"Duh."

"You're saying that today does not portend anything significant or interesting?"

"Not likely, no."

"Well..."

"Well, what?"

"Um. It's my birthday."

Labels: Wednesday

When she was a baby, she was inconsolable, always desperate for attention, but unsatisfied when she got it. When she was a child, she was uncharacteristically despairing, reacting to each bit of ill news tangential to her own circumstance with anxiety and sorrow. When she was a teenager, she isolated herself from her peers, as everything they said stung with great venom and they could never understand. When she was in college, she mourned her high school years and wept for how they held her back. Now an adult, she wonders whether she would be so full of woe had she been born a day later, or had her parents never heard a nursery rhyme.

Labels: Wednesday

Aaron Blake. Hailey Jensen. NewsRadio's new season. Wednesday, September 24, 1997--at Hailey Jensen's freaking house!

How had it all started? Aaron wondered, lying on his bed, taking a moment's break from figuring out which shirt to wear. Just two days before, this had been the stuff of fantasy. And now, here he was, 45 minutes away from getting in his mom's car and driving over to the girl whose name had been on the tip of his tongue since eighth grade.

It was no coincidence that Aaron sat behind Hailey in two of his six classes. Timing precisely when to arrive in a class on the first day of school was a skill he'd been practicing for years. He hadn't yet spoken to Hailey this year (one of her best friends sat adjacent to her), but he was near her, and that was probably going to be enough.

But on that fateful Monday, as he was heading out the door to his bus stop, his mother stopped him to relay that new episodes of his favorite sitcom, NewsRadio, were advertised to be starting this week. Not wanting to forget, Aaron scribbled a reminder on the front of his Spanish notebook, and skipped out the door.

When Hailey Jensen took her seat in fourth period Spanish, that note must have caught her eye. She turned around and asked him if he liked the show. Aaron, caught off guard, gave a clumsy answer, but once Hailey revealed herself to be a fan of the show, they were talking as casually as if they were old war buddies. The spoke of the absurdity that was last season's finale, "Space." Aaron thought he would die laughing, hearing Hailey describe the goofy mustache Andy Dick sported in last season's opener.

"So, yeah, new episodes are starting this week, apparently," Aaron affirmed--thanks, Mom!

"That's so awesome. Last year," Hailey said, "my sister and I would always get together every Wednesday with a big bowl of popcorn and watch NewsRadio together. It was so fun. Like the highlight of my week."

"That sounds like fun. I'm the only one in my house who likes the show."

"Oh yeah? You should come over Wednesday, then." And snap! Like that, Aaron would be spending time with the girl of his dreams (all but confirmed by their newfound mutual interest), at her house, in the evening. It wasn't a date per se--but it totally was. And though it was ambiguous, Aaron had noticed that Hailey hadn't been so wary and careful as to specify this Wednesday. She said "Wednesday," which could very well imply that this was on its way to becoming a regular thing. Aaron sighed contentedly.

Wednesday. 6:18 p.m. Aaron was just reparting his hair for the eighth time when his younger brother Jeremy banged on his door. "Phone's for you!" Jeremy yelled. "It's some girl!"

Aaron opened the door and snatched the phone from Jeremy's hand. "Hello?" Aaron asked, putting too fine a point on his question mark.

"Hi, Aaron? It's Hailey." It was Hailey! "So my sister just checked the TV Guide and it turns out that NBC moved NewsRadio to Tuesday nights. We missed the premiere!"

"Oh, no!" Aaron's heart plunged deep into his bowels, but he knew he had to laugh it off. "It was last night! Oh gosh, that sucks! That's so lame of them."

"I know, right? Totally blows."

"Man, weak," Aaron muttered, but he knew he had to act quickly to save this. "Well, raincheck for next Tuesday, maybe? We can pretend it's the premiere and act all surprised when last night's episode's in reruns."

Hailey left a pregnant pause on the line. "That's the thing, though," she said slowly. "I have dance class on Tuesday nights? So, I'll just make my sister tape it for me and I'll watch it when I get home."

Aaron's body tensed and stiffened and so did his voice, "Well, maybe we can talk about it on Wednesdays. Y'know, in class?"

"Yeah, sure, totally, totally. Too bad about tonight, though. I'll see you in school, bye---"

"Good-bye," Aaron cut her off. Damn! Damn, damn, fuckpissshit damn!

"B'bye," Hailey repeated. Dial tone.

And thus ended Aaron Blake's one shot at high school romance.

Labels: meticulously researched, Wednesday

Benny wasn't touching his cereal. "You'd better hurry," his older sister, Janice, urged, pushing her bowl away. "The bus will be here in like five minutes."

"I wish it wasn't Wednesday. Nothing important or interestings ever happens on Wednesdays," Benny whined.

"That's not true," his sister shot back. "Plenty of things have happened on Wednesdays."

"Oh yeah? Like what?"

"Christopher Columbus set sail on his first voyage on a Wednesday."

"Meh," Benny muttered.

"Let's see. Victory Over Japan Day was a Wednesday." Benny shrugged. "I think the original Bastille Day was a Wednesday," Janice added thoughtfully. No reaction from Benny. "In fact, I believe you were born on a Wednesday."

"Not really interesting or important," Benny sighed.

"Well, then. By your measure, I don't think anything important or interesting has ever happened," Janice stood up, grabbing her bookbag from the floor.

"I guess not," Benny said. "Wednesday's not so bad, I suppose. No more worse or boring than any other day. Hold up. Let me get my shoes on."

Labels: Wednesday

"Doesn't it just feel like a Thursday? I swear, I just keeping thinking it's Thursday," Justine said. She was idly stirring her coffee, though the cup had been half consumed since morning. "Maybe Wednesday got sick and Thursday's filling in for it--a substitute. Don't ya think?"

The business hours of this Wednesday were slowly seeping out of the clock. The Sun was in the West, heading for the mountains on the horizon. All of Thursday's tasks would take too long to even commence this evening, so all that could be done was sit in the dim office and shoot the shit. April adjusted the arrangements of the pens in her cup. "Yeah, sure."

April continued, "Tell you what, I'd bet we'll come in tomorrow and it's totally gonna feel like Wednesday. They probably just switched days. Like, Wednesday had her kid's school play to go to today--The Three Little Pigs--so Thursday and Wednesday traded shifts."

"Huh, maybe."

"Oh! Or maybe it's Thursday who had the obligation. Maybe she has to testify at Friday's small claims court appearance tomorrow, so she got Wednesday to trade with her."

Every day, April thought, Justine's personifications of the days of the week seemed to be getting more intricate.

Labels: Wednesday

Labels: Platitude Whale, Wednesday

I meant to get into work half an hour early, today, but found myself entering the office half an hour late. My cousin's getting married this afternoon, and getting dressed was a chore. I decided on a charcoal gray suit with a pink dress shirt, one of the few articles of light clothing I have that are not awaiting a laundry day rebirth (and dark clothing just doesn't seem appropriate for a Summer wedding) to wear with my gray suit. The tie that I have that is specifically designated to go with this pink shirt has gone missing, and I spent ten minutes trying on the various red ties I have among the hundreds of ties in my giant, tie-filled duffle bag. Then I discovered that my gray suit had acquired holes near the pants pockets on either side. Fortunately, my suit jacket covers this up handily, so I can get through the day okay without embarrassing myself. There was nothing to resolve, so this problem didn't technically cost me any time, but I had to spend about five minutes brooding over it.

At last (after another three minutes of searching for the spectacles that were in my breast pocket, and two returns to my apartment to make sure I locked my door and turned off my coffee maker), I stepped out into the sunlight. Last night, I left my MP3 player at work, so instead, I brought along my newly purchased copy of Macbeth to read between the stoplights.

On most days, I cut across Washington Square, where the Salt Lake City and County Building is located, on my way to work. Today was no different. But as I made my way around the block, I noticed something unusual.

All along State Street, between 400 and 500 South, were thousands of FLDS polygamists, there to protest a court case being decided today. I put down Macbeth. Thousands of sister wives, in their eyesore, plain dresses. Hundreds of polygamous men hanging around the City and County Building itself, a gauntlet of distrustful and hateful stares the likes of which I have never before endured.

In all my years in Utah, I've seen only a handful of polygamists on rare occasion. I'd never seen anything like this. I don't know if I've ever felt more in the minority.

As I crossed State Street, four women, apparently between the ages of 16 and 22, came across the other way, eating ice cream sundaes.

Labels: life in utah, Wednesday

"Is this the Wednesday paper?" Heather inquired to no one, pulling an independent daily from one of the stacks of discarded newspapers spaced evenly along the length of the coffee bar. "They publish showtimes in the Wednesday paper."

"Midweek," Daniel corrected and took a sip of his coffee.

"Pardon?"

"I don't say 'Wednesday.' I say 'midweek.'"

Heather turned to look at her blind date. Still, she continued to flip through the pages of the paper. "Oh yeah?"

"Perhaps I should say mittwoch, but I do think that sounds a bit pretentious. However, for centuries, that has been the German word for the day in the middle of the week, and it literally means 'midweek.' English language, as you may or may not know, is a Germanic language; it logically follows that that is its proper name."

"Really?" Heather pressed. She focused in on a zit on the edge of his cheekbone that seemed to be growing.

"Really."

"You are aware that the name 'Wednesday' actually comes from the Anglo-Saxon god Woden, aren't you?"

"English is," and Daniel's is contained a small sigh, "a Germanic language." He closed his eyes and took another sip of coffee.

"Huh," Heather said. "Well, looks like the next show's in an hour," she closed the paper and cleared her throat, twisting it up into a little cough, thereby planting the seeds of her sudden illness that she expected would be striking her in fifteen minutes or so.

Labels: Wednesday

They laid together on a blanket in the nighttime darkness. "Yet another Wednesday is coming to a close," she said.

"Where would you like us to be next Wednesday?" he whispered.

"Above ground."

"Me, too. Perhaps it will be so."

Labels: Wednesday

- "Oh, well. It must be Wednesday."

- "Why do you say that?"

- "You're wearing your Wednesday pants, aren't you?"

- "I don't think I have Wednesday pants."

- "You're joking, right?"

- "No. I can't say that I know what you're talking about."

- "Are you saying that it's just a coincidence that you've worn the exact same pair of pants every Wednesday for three years?"

- "Um. I guess so?"

Labels: Wednesday

This Wedneday has been good to me. And so, I will stay awake long past midnight. Still, I will call it Wednesday, for Thursday comes with the down, not with the hour hand.

I will juice this Wednesday for all it's got. Into the wee hours of the night, I will watch television, play video games, and read blog comments. Because Wednesday has been good to me, and the Thursday I will awaken to promises me no such thing.

Labels: Wednesday

For an evening in June, it was frightfully chilly. Margot pinched her jacket tightly around her torso and shivered. Again, she glanced at her watch. 11:58 p.m. Midnight couldn't come soon enough. Every few moments, the image of her parents knocking on the door of her empty room flashed through her mind like a shooting pain. Margot wasn't the sort to sneak out of her room to do drugs, drink alcohol, or screwing boys or whatever it was her mother was always convinced she was doing behind her back. Claiming that she was on top of a hill, trying to confirm an urban legend would never fly, and would make the last two years living at home unbearable hell.

Why was she out here anyway? The Wednesday Cry rumor Taylor was spreading was patently retarded. Wednesday didn't have a voice, because Wednesday was a human concept, its beginning and ending definied centuries ago by some dudes who might just as well have preferred a 14-day week cycle. So how could it cry when it died? So it made absolutely no goddamned sense that Wednesday cries at its weekly expiration.

And besides, in New York City it was already Thursday, while in Honolulu it'd be Wednesday for hours still. Does a different Wednesday god die every

But Taylor was swearing up and down that she had heard it. Taylor must have been bluffing, but it turned into an argument, and Margot had promised that she'd go out disprove it.

"I'm not gonna go with you," Taylor laid it down. "'Cause you have to go out and listen alone, exactly at midnight. It's just the cry is so, so quiet. Just someone ele being there, breathing could cause you to miss it."

So there she was, alone, counting down the seconds till midnight. She glanced back toward her house. The only sounds were her breathing and the sounds of crickets chirping. "Oh God," she thought, "crickets. I'm gonna get to school tomorrow--tired!--and I'm gonna say I didn't hear it and she'll be all like 'Were there crickets?' and I'll say 'Yeah,' and she'll be all 'Well then they probably drowned out the sound; try again' and I'll just tell her to fuck off."

Margot glanced at her watch again. 12:01. She'd missed midnight while playing tomorrow's scenario in her head, but she also didn't hear a thing. She knew she wouldn't. Of course. The Wednesday Cry made no sense at all. Margot turned back to her house, down in the valley, and began the walk home.

Labels: Wednesday

"And so, Lonnie's birthday was on a Monday, and she's exactly two days younger than Gary, whose birthday is June eighth. So add two days, and the tenth was a Wednesday. It's Wednesday again tonight--I know that because I had my Tuesday figure drawing class at the community college last night--so that would make today the seventeeth, right?" Mary looked up for confirmation.

The cashier nodded her head silently, making no mention of the date displayed in the corner of her monitor.

"Alright, the seventeeth it is," Mary scribbled the date on her check.

Labels: Wednesday

The conductor stepped out of the locomotive engine and onto the platform. His plump, rosy cheeks were as shiny in the midday sun as the gold buttons on his conductor's jacket. His finely groomed, snow white mustache turned up at the ends to accent his kind smile. With a twinkle in his eye, he surveyed the crowd of children before him, uncommonly still and quiet in their anxiousness, eager to hear what announcement would be made.

The conductor prolonged the moment. When he cleared his throat, a collective gasp came up from the children before him. At last, he chuckled, and put his hands in the air.

"Alllllllll abooooooard the Wednesday Train!" he bellowed.

The children clapped and giggled with glee as they boarded the train that would take them to Wednesday and happiness.

Labels: Wednesday

"What have you to say of Wednesday, dear fellow?" the portly gentleman asked.

"My mind cannot be troubled with Wednesday," replied the young man, his voice dripping with exhaustion, "for I have spent entirely too much time with Tuesday."

Labels: Wednesday

Wednesday is not to be missed. If you have Monday or Friday off, you may miss your Monday, Friday, Tuesday, or Thursday classes, but your Wednesday classes will go on as planned. Unless Christmas and New Year's Day fall on Wednesdays, you will work on Wednesday. If another holiday falls on Wednesday, it will instead be observed on a day that will give us a three-day weekend.

Observed holidays were invented because we love being at work on Wednesday just so damned much.

Labels: Wednesday

Her Wednesday is your Saturday, and her Sunday is your Wednesday. She runs her own shop and shifted her own weekends. The shop was opened right after a bad breakup--she got the apartment, he got the friends. And she sat in that apartment for three Saturdays and three Sundays. The loneliness was unbearable, so she removed herself from the regular pace of the workweek, so that she might have her weekend when she could tell herself the reason she was alone was because everyone else was busy.

It was good for business, too. Wednesday and Thursday were never very busy days to begin with. Her customers were delighted to be able to shop on Saturdays. Her more loyal customers became something of a community, leisurely strolling in to visit on Sundays.

But time has passed since the breakup. No one is available to visit, to drink, to hang out with on Wednesday or Thursday nights. Her suburb is deserted during the day and in Fall, the barren tree branches make it look like a ghost town. She would like to return to Friday and Saturday, to be with new friends and old, but does not know that she can now afford to.

Labels: Wednesday

His Wednesday is not your Wednesday. On your Wednesday, you celebrate the midpoint of the workweek. If you work five eights, it's noon. It you work four tens, it's the morning. But with the Wednesday Sun, he arises to celebrate the beginning of his weekend. For he works two twenties. On Monday, like you, he starts his work, but on Tuesday, he finishes. He awakens Wednesday and knows that this is the first of five days he has all to himself, inverse of what you have.

For he is his own boss. And he answers to no one but himself.

Labels: Wednesday

Stay here with me a little longer, as Tuesday slips away. You depart in the morning and the date of your return is unknown. Here, stay beside me as midnight passes and we find ourselves in another day--sweet, sweet Wednesday. For this is now one day more that I have seen you and one less day that I have gone without you. As the days after this Wednesday pass, I shall be stronger, for the number of your absence's days shall be one weaker.

Labels: Wednesday

The investigator stormed into the parlor. "I have the solution!" he declared, pointing a victorious finger into the air. The parlor erupted in whispers and murmurs.

"Hush now!" he quieted the society men and women who stood rigidly around the room. Their formal finery had become oppressive in the summer warmth; the gentlemen had begun to loosen their collars and discretely unbutton buttons, while the ladies were thoughtlessly fanning themselves with the outermost layers of their skirts.

With the weary attention of the room, the investigator continued. "When viewed from the proper perspective, the solution was blindingly obvious. In truth, I'm ashamed I did not arrive at it sooner. My ego, though, is hardly relevant at this juncture. For Wednesday--!" he bellowed.

"Is not Wednesday at all! It is Thursday, merely masquerading as Wednesday!" he stripped the disguise from Thursday's face. Thursday howled in anguish and escaped into the night. Wednesday was released from its imprisonment and took its rightful place. The parlor erupted in applause.

"There," the investigator said, exhilarated. His anxieties about coming to this solution so late vanished with his theatrics. "With Wednesday restored, let us continue the evening's festivities!"

"Let's," cooed Miss Winthrop.

Labels: Wednesday

We go to bed healthy and rested on Tuesdays and wake up tired and sore on Thursdays. The documents of civilization past describe a day in between, a day called "Wednesday." My grandmother's journal has entries dated from Wednesdays, but my father has no recollection of them.

Time seems to move between the end of Tuesday and the beginning of Thursday, but we do not see it. Grasses grow and the streets become swept with rain. But no man has seen a Wednesday in over a generation.

"Wednesday" has become many things to many people. To some it is a promised day, to others it is doomsday. Theories are whispered in break rooms and living rooms about what happens on Wednesday--where they went or where we go. Answers are elusive.

Most of us do not question it. We age at the same rate as our ancestors, so we do not wish to spend much of our lives speculating or mourning the one-seventh we have already lost. We stay at home Tuesday nights because we do not wish to go near that which we don't understand.

Labels: Wednesday

Charlie skipped home with an extra spring in his step. Today was Wednesday, after all, and every Wednesday, his mother would take him to the supermarket and buy him an ice cream cone, scooped from one of the sixteen tubs of ice cream behind the glass. Fifteen of these tubs contained consistent flavors of ice cream week by week, day by day. One tub, though, cycled through an unknown number of flavors every week, something he had not picked up on until eight weeks ago. He was only seven years old, he reasoned, so even though he and his mother had been honoring this ritual for the entirety of his school career, his observational faculties had only recently provided for detecting such patterns.

Charlie wondered what flavor would be in the sixteenth tub this Wednesday, and whether or not it would be intriguing enough to sway him from his desired rocky road cone. He wondered what flavor could convince him to

As usual, Charlie rounded the corner the separated the living room from the kitchen, where he expected to find his mother either sipping some afternoon coffee and typing on her laptop computer. Instead, he found his mother seated next to a slight whisp of a bald man, dressed in a dull gray suit, both surrounded by sheets of paper, stacks of paper, strips of paper.

"Hi, Charlie," his mother smiled, looking up from the papers in her hands. "This is Geoff, our accountant."

"Hey, Charlie," the accountant said without looking up. He was pressing buttons on a calculator that noisily spat out receipt tape.

"Hi, Mom," Charlie said, touching his hand to the wall. "Are you ready to go to the supermarket?" he asked. "It's Wednesday."

"Oh, honey," his mother sighed. "I'm sorry, but today's Tax Day. We've got to finish these tonight and I can't take the time away to get to the supermarket."

"But it's Wednesday," Charlie

"I think Tax Day supercedes Wednesday," the accountant looked up and chuckled to himself.

"I know, sweetheart," she said from across the kitchen. "We'll go tomorrow, okay?'

Charlie was an agreeable child. "Okay," he nodded. He let his backpack slide down his shoulder, turned around, and walked back into the living room.

That Wednesday was the day on which Charlie learned that traditions are merely fragile constructs of human design, that life's pleasures can easily be derailed by life's obligations, and that all things are impermanent.

Labels: short stories, taxes, Wednesday

Within seconds, the drops of water that hit Harold on the back of the neck revealed themselves to be harbingers of a heavy Spring rainstorm.

Looks like we're in for some heavy rains starting on Wednesday.

The voice of the Sunday morning weatherman rang sounded clearly in Harold's mind. This. This was the storm he had been told was coming, the storm he had imagined as he drank his morning coffee. Three days had passed since that forecast, and in those three days, he had forgotten all about the coming storms.

Harold lifted his head to the sky and stretched his arm to the trees and the buildings and the cars and the people that surrounded him. The Wednesday rain enveloped him and cleansed him, washing away all the days that had come before and cleansing the world in anticipation of days yet to come.

Labels: rain, Wednesday

On Wednesdays, Charlie Benson is a demon.

Since the age of six, Charlie wakes up every Wednesday morning with his spine bowed, his skin flaming red and impenetrable as steel, two twisted horns protruding from his head, claws like crow's beaks protruding from his digits, and yellow serpent's eyes. In this form, he possesses superhuman strength, uncanny quickness, and inexhaustible stamina. He is a perfect specimen.

Though he awakens every Wednesday as a demon, he chooses to assume human form, no different in appearance from the body he wears Thursday through Tuesday. With his human form, he inherits all the frailties of human beings. He is quick to tire, his legs ache after climbing a stairwell, and he gets paper cuts.

Charlie Benson is now thirty-four years old. No one else knows that on Wednesdays, he is a demon. He has told no one and has not dared let them see. The longest time he has spent in pure demon form was one Wednesday in his freshman year of college when his dormmate was away; he spent all day naked, watching daytime television and masturbating. He woke up on Thursday and felt like shit and vowed to never do it again.

So he wakes up on Wednesday morning. Before he even rolls out of bed he reverts to human form, sucking in his claws, his horns, and the musculature that takes with it his warmth. He replaces his smooth, invulnerable skin with human flesh, soft and riddled with blemishes. He puts on a shirt and he puts on a tie and he goes to work and he comes home.

On every other day, Charlie Benson is Charlie Benson.

Labels: Wednesday

Two lovers awoke to the Wednesday sun, comfortable in their bed and in each other's naked arms. With the dawn came the while of an alarm clock, urging them to dress themselves, and part company for their eight hour grinds. "I wish it was still Sunday," he said, bringing his face closer to hers. "I could use another Sunday," she smiled.

Elsewhere, two children were walking to school. "I've got my first karate lesson ever after school tomorrow," said one. "I wish I didn't even have to go through Wednesday to get to Thursday, y'know?"

In a row of cubicles, one coworker said to another, "Oh, my god, I wish it was Friday. Then I could be singin' 'quittin' time!'" They both laughed.

"So, I hear you've got a hot date this weekend?" a young woman asked her younger sister.

"Yes, Saturday!" her sister replied with an eager smile. "With this guy from my world lit class last semester. I'm so anxious, I wish it was Saturday right now!"

And so, for the entire day, everyone kept talking about how great the other days of the week were, with nary a kind word about Wednesday, as if Wednesday wasn't even there.

How impolite.

Labels: Wednesday

WEDNESDAY, MARCH 12, 2025
Elliott K. Peters, syndicated opinion columnist

We've swung too far, America. The election and reelection of Barack Obama was a necessary correction to the disastrous Bush years. His Democratic successor continued to thrive on the surprisingly resilient generated throughout Obama's administration, despite its various turbulences over the years. But Obama this president wasn't, and the Republicans finally regained a majority in the midterm 2022 elections. The 2024 Congressional elections weakened the Democrats' hold as the New Libertarian Republic Party gained a handful of seats in both houses dozen seats.

So now history's pendulum has swung again and we're less than two months into our new Republican president's administration. But 2025's Republican Party is not the party of Lincoln. It's not the party of Reagan. Hell, it's not even the party of Bush.

Instead of pushing forward the promised capital gains tax cuts or earmark reforms that won the public's hearts over the past two years, the new administration's first piece of proposed legislation was the Weekday Privatization Act of 2025, of which nary a word was uttered on the campaign trail. Congress rubber stamped it and the president signed it one month ago, with much fanfare. And 48 hours later, with even more fanfare still, a deal was announced, transferring the rights of Wednesday to hybrid media conglomerate W.E. Powers Partners.

In the last month, the federal government has been all atwitter with bids for the other six days of the week and appointments for the hastily created government bureau that will administer and guard the property rights of the companies receiving title to the previously public domain days.

So, citizens of America, be sure to keep a little extra cash in your wallets as you venture into the streets one week from today. That is the official first day of our new W.E.P.P.-sponsored Wednesdays and you wouldn't want to be caught short when it comes time to pay the Wednesday tolls.

The website you are reading this column on may have already begun headlining its Wednesday articles with the word "Midweek" in an effort to avoid paying hefty royalties for the use of the now protected term "Wednesday." Ten minutes before press time for this column, I have received word that W.E.P.P. has already filed a complaint against AOL Time Warner for doing just that and claiming that "Midweek" is a derivative of "Wednesday," and that this circumvention is a violation of the Weekday Privatization Act.

It appears that this complaint will stick. I've sacrificed a paragraph of my trademark building, pointed outrage to report to you this plain fact in hopes that its obvious ridiculous nature is enough to carry my point for me.

These are not fair market principles. These are not free market principles. These are retarded market principles.

Labels: Wednesday

INT. OFFICE - NIGHT

JONES, a mid-level manager, approaches DAVIS, who's busy working at his desk.
Otherwise, the office is deserted.

            JONES
      Still here, are you, Davis?

            DAVIS
      Yep.  Just gotta email a few things before
      I head home.  Going on vacation tomorrow.

            JONES
      Cancun, huh?

            DAVIS
      Yep.  Flight leaves first thing in the morning.
      I'm looking forward to it, but I am not 
      looking forward to packing.

Jones laughs a little in recognition.  Davis returns to tapping at his keyboard.

            JONES
      Hey, can I ask you how old you are, Davis?

            DAVIS
      Twenty-three.

            JONES
      I'm turning thirty-two soon here.  Got me
      thinkin'.

            DAVIS
      Yeah.

            JONES
      It's funny.  I figure I've already expended
      at least a third of my life.  I have maybe
      sixty years left if I'm lucky.  That's not
      long at all, y'know.

            DAVIS
      I know what you mean.

There's a brief pause as Jones lingers over Davis's desk, holding but not drink-
ing a cup of cold, late night coffee.  Davis returns to his work until Jones 
interjects again.

            JONES
      It's Wednesday, isn't it, Davis?

            DAVIS
      Uh-huh.

            JONES
      Sixty years isn't a long time, but when
      you convert that into Wednesdays, I've 
      probably got about three thousand Wednes-
      days left.  

            DAVIS
      Yeah, when you put it that way, it
      doesn't sound so bad.   Three thousand's
      quite a bit.

            JONES
      Indeed, Davis, indeed.  Quite a few 
      Wednesdays left.
         (beat)
      Enjoy your vacation, Davis.

            DAVIS
      Thanks.

Jones walks away.

Labels: Wednesday

Jason Penderthwaite, age ten, would never cut in line, nor would he allow cutting. It would take him longer to get his lunch and the bruises on his shoulder delivered by Kyle Hanover and his ilk would smart into afternoon recess, but lines are governed by rules and rules are the foundation of society and are not to be circumvented even at the promise of friendship. Jason was a good citizen, but why wouldn't Susie Weeks ever notice that?

Jason looked wistfully at Susie, wearing a pink tee shirt and smartly matching jeans some twelve children ahead of him. She took her lunch tray from lunch lady Beatrice, gave her a polite and elegant "thank you," and walked over to take one of the last places at a mixed-gender lunch table. Though surely Susie, graceful angel that she was, would welcome Jason as company, he knew that the other children would never accept his company.

The entree du jour was something called "Wednesday Surprise." From what Jason could see on the lunch trays around the cafeteria, it looked like some sort of hamburger in a bun with an unusual sauce.

At long last, Jason's turn came and he selected his flavor of milk ("Skim, please."), his vegetable ("I'd like the mashed potatoes."), and his dessert ("I'm in the mood for a brownie today."). When he arrived in front of Beatrice, she planted a Wednesday Surprise on his tray. Curious, Jason sniffed the odd morsel. The meat indeed smelled like hamburger, as he expected, but the sauce--

"Hey," announced Jason. "This sauce is just made up of little bits of Monday and Tuesday!"

Beatrice put her finger over her lips and made a gentle shushing sound. Without a word, she gave him an extra brownie and sent him on his way.

Jason ate lunch alone.

Labels: Wednesday

Becky's shift started at nine o'clock. She shared an office with Janice, whose shift started an hour later. Becky would be well engaged in her work--typing memos, emailing reports, reviewing spreadsheets--by the time Janice would drop her mighty purse on her desk, noisily swing the door to hang up her jacket, and make a loud, tired pronouncement about whatever day of the week it was. These pronouncements would echo in everything Janice would say to her officemate or passersby for the first and last two hours of her shift, when she seemingly had an acute awareness of the day of the week. Becky liked to keep communication with Janice to a minimum and dreaded her ten o'clock arrival.

Recently, Janice had taken to complaining about her "case of the Mondays," a term she happily and unironically confessed to lifting from Office Space. This "case of the Mondays" apparently had infected the neighboring Tuesday. Thursday was the interminable countdown to Friday and Friday was the interminable countdown to five o'clock.

But Wednesday was "hump day." And this day was Wednesday.

Becky stared into her computer monitor, unable to concentrate on the scores of emails that required her attention. Instead, she was fixated on the time: "9:59 AM." Right on schedule, she could hear Janice's voice approaching from down the hall. The sound of Janice's feet hitting carpet were amplified in Becky's ears, thunderous and malicious. Becky's fingers, at rest on the home row, tensed and involuntarily typed "jafkl;d" into a report to the district supervisor.

Without looking up, Becky knew Janice was now in the office with her: the air was stuffier; it reeked of cheap perfume. Becky grinded her teeth. Janice slammed her purse down on her desk, its contents jingling and crinkling in cacophony. Becky's eyes strained and her vision blurred.

"It's Hump Day!" Janice croaked melodically. Becky moved her lips mockingly. Janice maneuvered around the office. "I made cupcakes!"

Becky looked up from her monitor. Janice towered over her desk, grinning generously. She extended to Becky a plastic container populated with chocolate and vanilla cupcakes. Atop each one, inscribed in icing, were the words, "HUMP DAY!"

Becky smiled in return. She delicately plucked the chocolate cupcake nearest her from the container. "Thanks, Janice,"

"You're welcome, hon. We're halfway there, aren't we?" Janice chirped. Becky had already stuffed her mouth full with cupcake. She nodded. Janice laughed. "We'll get there. Hump Day's just two days away from Friday!"

Janice made delicious cupcakes.

Labels: cupcakes, short stories, Wednesday

The Wednesday light seeped into the royal chamber through thick, velvet curtains. A sliver of light divided the throne. Though most of the room was in shadow, it was plain to see that the chamber was a mess. The King of Wednesdays let out a sigh, set down his briefcase, and went to the window.

The parted curtains revealed the kingdom that was, today, his. His edicts would govern its people and his judgments would decide their lives. On the horizon, he could see a grand procession of several dozen soldiers and attendants. Ah, yes, today, he would be negotiating a treaty with the kingdom of Lavanshire.

Looking back into the chamber over his shoulder, though, revealed a room in severe disarray. Torn pages of books adhered to the floor tiles by some sticky substance. A waste bin had been the target of much vomiting, though the vomiters must have had poor aim. Empty bottles were strewn about the room, many in pieces. "Tuesday," the King of Wednesdays grumbled. He covered his nose with his sleeve to block the perverse cocktail of odors that hung heavily in the room.

"Pardon me, your majesty," one of the castle's janitors squeaked from the doorway. "The entire castle staff has been working on cleaning since the King of Tuesdays's departure at dawn, but last night's party left an abnormally large amount of byproduct."

The King of Wednesdays sighed. "Understood. Carry on. Is Morris here?"

Morris, the Kings' Supervising Attendant, ran into the room as if he had been waiting in the hall. "Yes, your majesty?"

"Did the King of Tuesdays make any proclamations or decrees or anything during his reign yesterday?"

"Aye, your majesty. I will bring you a summary promptly."

The King of Wednesdays retrieved from his briefcase a handwritten to-do list he had prepared and tore it up. These days, he prepared it only as a matter of course and for the symbolic act of tearing it through. His morning would, as usual, be spent undoing the damage done to the kingdom the King of Tuesdays had inevitably wrought, sneezing and coughing at the foul chemical and biological odors that would persist until noon. Matters of state with Lavanshire would occupy him into the early evening, leaving him just enough time to dash of a couple of notes and suggestions for the King of Thursdays.

The King of Wednesdays had grand plans for his kingdom--social programs, heierarchical reform, improved synergy with the other six Kings in the High Order of Rotational Monarchy. These plans had been kicking around in his head for years, but the most important thing he had yet achieved was a standardization of monetary value for calves and pickaxes. "Well," thought the King of Wednesdays, "I'll never get anything done if I don't get down to business." Morris was entering again from the hall, several scrolls in hand. The King of Wednesdays moved for the throne.

Wadded up on the royal throne was a pair of panties. They still looked damp.

Labels: royalty, short stories, Wednesday

"Do you do something special on Wednesday?" asked Dave.

Buddy looked up from the club sandwich he was assmebling. "Whaddya mean?" he asked, cocking his eyebrow.

"Well," Dave continued, "I don't know if you've noticed it, but these days I only come into your deli on Wednesdays."

"Huh, I didn't realize that," Buddy shrugged.

"On the rare occasions I've come in on other days, the sandwiches here just aren't that great. But on Wednesdays, I come in, I order anything off your menu, and--I swear to God--it's the best lunch in the city."

Buddy continued to prepare Dave's sandwich.

"You don't do anything different on Wednesdays? No special spice or sauce or nothing?"

"Nope."

"When do you get your food shipments in?"

"Monday and Friday," Buddy put the sandwich in a bag.

"It's probably not that then. What the hell?" Dave scratched his head.

"No idea," Buddy handed the bag across the counter. "Enjoy your sandwich, Dave."

"I will, Buddy."

"See you next week."

Labels: Wednesday

The formal dissolution of their romantic relationship some five years ago was not tainted by vapid cliches such as "It's not you--it's me" or "We'll still be friends." There was no need for any of those things because two things were obvious: 1) neither one could be at fault, and 2) they would always be friends.

She worked from home and he worked in an office building down the street. Between the two buildings was the deli where they terminated their relationship one Balmy Wednesday. Every subsequent Wednesday, they would meet at that same deli, order one of three pairs of sandwiches, and talk about the sorts of things old friends talk about.

One Tuesday he called her to tell her that he had a meeting that would require him to be across town during the lunch hour the next day and proposed moving their weekly lunch to Thursday. She declined.

One Wednesday, she wiped her lips, looked out the window and said, "I look forward to Wednesday all week."

"Perhaps we should meet some other day, too," he said. "Perhaps Fridays?"

"No," she said. "Just Wednesdays."

Labels: short stories, Wednesday

In the quiet of night, Wednesday washed over the virgin marsh, unseen by human eye and untouched by human hand.

The grass swayed in the winds. Frogs snatched flies from the air, filling their bellies. In the heat of the Wendesday afternoon, a foreign bird swooped down to pick a large fish from its school to be devoured. As the sun set, crickets welcomed the Wednesday moon.

In the quiet of night, Wednesday left the virgin marsh to make way for Thursday.

Labels: Wednesday

Marty sat across from the man in the brown suit and the brown mustache, who was glancing through Marty's resumé yet again. Marty suspected that the man had developed this as a nervous habit to fill the gaps in conversation. Marty also suspected that the man was unsure of his own suitability as a manager of this retail outlet.

"Well, Marty," the man said, glancing at the resumé again, "I tink I can tell you things look good. Before we make our final decision, is there anything you think we should know about you?"

"Now that you mention it," Marty replied, "you should probably know that I reject the concept of Wednesday."

"Oh," the man frowned, but snapped it into a tolerant smile, "is that a religious thing?"

"No. It's a philosophical thing."

"So you can't work Wednesdays?" the man reached for a blue pen.

"No," Marty shook his head. "I am available to work on Wednesdays, like any other day. Though I reject the concept of Wednesday, I still exist every Wednesday. As much as I might object, I have no say in the matter. Since I apparently must exist on Wednesdays, I see no reason to take them off. Schedule me on Wednesday as you will."

"I see," the man said, though he clearly did not. "May I ask you what you have against the concept of Wednesday?"

"It's Wednesday," Marty intoned. "If you require more than that to understand, it would be a waste of time for the both of us for me to try to explain."

"I see," repeated the man. The interview had come to an end. They shook their hands and went their respective ways.

Labels: Wednesday