You are contacting us because we are on a job board somewhere. We are taking your call because we do not have an income and need a job to get one. Most of us have gone through months of unemployment, usually without an unemployment check because the state requirements are too stringent for us to get one. We have been forced out of one home to another because we cannot afford the rent and our savings have been depleted. The odd jobs we have been able to get are only for a few hours and cannot sustain us. So we have been jumping through your hoops all week, waiting eagerly for the magic words: “You’re Hired!”
If we are still taking your call, it is because we have not yet heard those words. Therefore, we are not excited about the weekend. Friday means failure. It does not mean rest from our labors of trying to get somebody within a commutable distance to bring us on board. It certainly is no end to our stress and anxiety. We cannot rest. We have no money for the rent, let alone to enjoy ourselves. We do not thank anybody for Friday.
Many moons ago, under different circumstances, I wrote a poem about the weekend. My feelings about it now are much the same. It is shared by my fellow jobless poor people. You should listen to it: