Tuesdays Are Crappy

When discussing the days of the week,; most people say they hate Mondays. I think Tuesdays are the crappiest day of the week. The day is non-descript and crappy. Monday is the day that could be filled with promise. Like New Year's Day...its the beginning of something. I will aim to start a new project, a new diet, or a new behavior on a Monday. Tuesdays are the backwash days of failed Mondays.

At one point in my working life, I swore to take Tuesday off. Then I wondered, "Would I still have a crappy day on Tuesday, even if I was lying around the house?" I also wondered if I'd start hating Wednesdays . So, I decided to just suck it up and get to work. Crappy won't kill me.

I think I may schedule my least favorite houses on Tuesday . To clarify this thought, I'd like to say that these houses (and clients) aren't necessarily my least favorite. They usually turn out to be the houses that I could happily give up for the week if anything else came up. I am very happy when it snows on a Tuesday. When the roads are just too bad to drive on , and a Tuesday client calls me concerned that I may not make it up their driveway; I am all too happy to bow out.

Today, after I did my first Tuesday house (which I happen to hate to vacuum because of the dark orientals and the two light dogs); I drove without passion to my second Tuesday house.

This home is nestled in the woods at the end of a long, thin driveway. Sometimes, when it's icy, I can't get up this driveway. Those are the days that I shrug my shoulders and say..."Oh well, I'll reschedule!" (It's Tuesday, you know).

The home nestled at the end of the long, thin, UPHILL, driveway that snakes through the woods is owned by the Bookers. Janis and Wire Booker are 55 and 66 respectfully. They have 2 college- aged children . Janis and Wire and their daughter, Aimee, were out of town for a few days visiting Janis' ailing mother. Their college-aged son was at home. It's the college holiday break!

When I drove up to the house, I discovered there was nowhere to park. There were 7 cars parked at various abnormal angles. Three cars belonged in the driveway, four did not. I called the house, not wanting to walk in unannounced. No one answered the phone. I parked behind a BMW with a bumper sticker of a cartoon boy peeing on a New York Yankees logo, and went up to the house. I rang the bell, no one answered. I knocked on the door and it pushed open, (sounds like a horror movie , doesn't it?)

"Helloooooo..... is there anyone home??" I crooned as I walked in the door. "Helloooooo."

Not a peep or a rustle or a footstep was heard. I turned the corner into the family room and saw why.

Like the cars strewed at odd angles in the drive, so were the young male bodies, fully dressed, some even with shoes....all passed-out. Many were using beer cans as pillows. One young man had a Red Sox hat over his face as he splayed on the braided carpet (obviously the Yankee hater). I recognized the Booker's son , Cape, curled up in front of the high def tv: a remote control was clutched to his chest like a teddy bear. There was a bottle of Peppermint Snapps on the baby grand piano (leaving a very sticky ring, I thought to myself.)

Well, this was worse than an icy driveway. I turned around and walked out the door.

"Goodnight" I said as I shut it.

I should have known. Eleven-thirty on a Tuesday morning. Parents and littler sister away. Tuesdays are crappy. If I were that age, I'd be passed out too.