(See also “Lamentations of a Chronic Traveler” and “Interpretation of a Statistician”)
How else do you say it without laughing?
Brian is a reputable guy during the weekdays. He ties his striped ties tight around his neck, always nestles them neatly underneath the collar of his dress shirts. He wears his very professional and very lightweight silver-rimmed rectangular glasses. He doesn’t slouch; he stands as tall as his lumbar and thoracic vertebrae will permit. His shoes are of the shiny black sort that bank tellers wear. To match all of this, he even wears traditional dress pants.
On the weekends, he plays a nylon-stringed classical guitar. Before he sings, he drinks from his lime-green water bottle filled to the brim with apple cider vinegar, honey, lemon, and just a hint of water that will quickly clean up the slimy cilia that lines his esophagus.
In his free time, he enjoys watching brief videos of animated monotone bankers arguing amongst themselves—the sort of videos that only bankers themselves would find entertaining. He has memorized every character’s script perfectly so that he can recite every word as he watches.
He daydreams of being a Human Anatomy professor and of playing music with Sublime, but doesn’t fully believe that either will happen; Brian is a logical guy. In the meantime, he counts money and tells countless people to have a nice day.
Brian doesn’t party on Mondays.
However, Brian has not always been this way.
When he was in his teens, he frequently partied on Mondays. He had long hair and rode a longboard. He got suspended twice for “chronically sagging” his pants. And as a result, his fellow schoolmates made t-shirts in a protest to “FREE BRIAN” and they made buttons to pin on their boxers that proclaimed, “SAG YOUR PANTS”.
The administrators paid no heed. Instead, they snatched the buttons from each pair of boxers and pinned them up on the corkboards in their offices for an occasional laugh.
Now, Brain often refers to himself in the third person, as if perhaps his soul still resides in that fifteen-year-old boy who chronically sagged his pants. Perhaps he was never freed. Perhaps “Brian” is just the word associated with the bank teller who always wears properly fitted dress pants during the weekdays and never parties on Mondays anymore.
(Based on nonfiction events, including some direct quotes from a somewhat nonfiction character)