“Alright, folks, I know it’s Monday, but this weekend we got new numbers and this requires immediate attention. We’re looking worse and worse as the years roll on, and we need to make a change,” said Alicia Pines, the CEO of Mondays, Incorporated. The staff had gathered out in the parking lot for an all-hands meeting.
“Tuesday, they did that taco tie-in a few years back, and they’re doing great. Wednesday convinced couples to take their ‘hump day’ nickname literally, which has made them quite popular. Thursday isn’t doing great, but it has that ‘at least it’s not Monday’ vibe to it. Which is the problem. We’re the laughingstock of the week. Everyone hates us. Friday was already the most popular of the weekdays, then they got that whole casual thing going, a cherry on top.
“The weekenders, Saturday and Sunday, they could be horrible for all anyone really knows about them, but just by being the weekend they get a huge boost. So I want everyone to come back next Monday with some concrete proposals to turn this day around.”
That gave Janice Mary Ellen Mays a whole week to work on her proposal. What would it be? Better recognition that at least four federal holidays fall on Mondays—the sometimes third-day of a weekend? But that left something like 48 other Mondays that didn’t. It might backfire.
And one of the days had to be the least-liked, didn’t it? There were songs. The Mamas and the Papas, The Bangles [Prince wrote it, though. — Ed.], The Carpenters. Take your pick. And that cat in the comics!
The moon thing. Janice Mary Ellen Mays thought about that satellite. It had a mixed reputation, too. Once it was blamed for insanity, and the connection with Monday, a day of traditionally lower mental health and general malaise and illness. Air pollution surely played a role there. All that extra vehicular activity, industrial plants ramping up production, all of it.
What the heck was Alicia thinking? Not every day could be beloved. Some days had to be the awkward and the lesser, didn’t they? What could Monday offer the world that it wasn’t already offering? Mangoes? Mushrooms? Marmalade? Couldn’t be food. That would be seen as derivative of Tuesday’s brilliant play.
Tuesday. All those albums with the anti-Monday songs were released on Tuesdays. Coincidence? Mays wondered. Maybe the whole problem with Mondays was really Tuesday. They hated those few days after long weekends that Tuesday started the week. Tuesday hated being Mondayed. But that wasn’t going to be worth much on Monday, if she got up and told everyone, “We’re the victim of a vast calendar conspiracy by our neighbor.”
There had to be something that Monday could do, some way to shine itself up and get people to proclaim “Thank God it’s Monday.”
Next Monday came along, with a variety of proposals offered. Chuck Bora presented on Mondays getting a mascot. “What, like a bear? ‘Only you can prevent Mondays?'” someone joked.
Betsy Kemp proposed lobbying for more three-day weekends, so that half of Mondays would be covered. She had charts showing that the increased animosity to Tuesdays, tacos or no, plus the increased affiliation of Mondays as a partial weekend-day would make relatively strong gains for the brand. Consensus was, however, that the business lobby would not spring for more days off.
Finally it was Janice Mary Ellen Mays’ turn. She said Monday should own its reputation. Adopt an intentionally antagonistic attitude. “Yeah, it’s Monday. What’re you gonna do about it?!” Let people know they spend a seventh of their lives struggling through Mondays, and tough shit, they should be glad there aren’t two Mondays every week.
Out came her big guns. Let people proclaim themselves the Mondays of society. “I’m a Monday Person and Proud of it,” a T-shirt design offered. “Monday person? Like morning people?” Alicia seemed intrigued.
And that’s how Janice Mary Ellen Mays got fired—on a Monday.