The Life Of Friday

My first job out of high school was as a clerk at the music store in our local mall. I worked for the same chain until last year, eleven years of my life. During my employment, co-workers, bosses and owners changed constantly. The only thing that remained unchanged, was Donovan Johnson.

The first time I talked to Donovan, I had been working at the store for two weeks. The telephone rang, and my pompadored manager, Joey, told me to answer it.

"Thanks for calling Blockbuster Music. This is Rebel, how can I help you?"

"Say, when's that Master P album coming out," asked the high-pitched voice on the other end.

"Let me look that up for you, sir....my computer says it will be available September 17th."

"I talked to Sam Goody, and they said October. Then I called Best Buy, and they said it's already out, they're just sold out."

"Sir, Best Buy employees don't know what they're talking about, so they lie. It's not out yet."

"Oh, okay. Thank you."

He called six more times that day, to ask the same question. Joey and I tried to imagine the life of this man, the number one Master P fan.

"I bet his life is like the movie Friday," Joey said. "He just smokes pot all day, and calls us."

We took to calling him Friday, for lack of his actual name.

Friday began a regimen of 6 or more phone calls a day. In the beginning, he wanted release dates for countless albums that Master P's No Limit Records was putting out on a weekly basis. After Friday quizzed us for information, he always told us what the other chain stores said, and sometimes what the record label or Source magazine had to say on the matter. (Rappers are notorious for setting release dates, then pushing them back. Friday could not handle this, and did his best to get to the bottom of the delay.) Over time, he seem to regard us as companions, and would call just to chat.

One day, Joey answered the phone. Friday was on the other end.

"Say, do you have the number to the Hurst IGA grocery store?"

"No, I don't," Joey answered. He still regrets not providing Friday with the number. "That would have been so fucking awesome," he said.

When shift change outs occurred, there was always a Friday update. What he called about, how many calls he had made already, the strange things he said. We were consumed. I came in for a closing shift one day, and Joey greeted me at the door.

"Rebel, I totally got to meet Friday today. His name is Donovan. He actually bought something!"

I was jealous that Joey had a face to put with the pestering voice on the line.

After four years at the mall, our store was no longer profitable, so they closed us down. I transferred to the mega-store across the street (Joey moved on). Friday's calls followed me. When training new employees, I would give a five minute speech about Friday, and our history together. Most people were annoyed with him, understandably, but I felt a great affection for him.

Eventually, his phone calls became more about keeping me on the line, and less about the endless quest for information. He trapped me for an hour once, giving me the details of his harassment of Sug Knight and Death Row records.

"So, I called Death Row 25 times in a row, and they wouldn't answer. I left a message every time. I said, 'Sug Knight, you a bitch. Since Tupac died, you ain't got shit. Whatchoo got, Sug? Nothing. Daz Dillinger will kick your ass.' So then they called me back and said 'If you call here again, we'll get a restraining order.' Ain't that a bitch move? Sug Knight is a bitch."

"Wow, Donovan, that's crazy," I said, not knowing what else to say.

In the entire time I worked at the store, I talked to Friday thousands of times, but only met him once. It was awkward, and not worth repeating.

Last Christmas, I decided I could not survive another retail Christmas, so I found a new job. I prepared all my customers for my departure, making sure Donovan knew I was leaving.

"Damn, you are? I'm gonna miss you girl."

I miss you too, Friday.