Steven J. Suarez vs.9-to-5'ers

Ladies and gentlemen of the jury,

Take a look at the 9-to-5 people. Just look at them.

Don't you wanna punch them in the mouth?

They refuse to wear jeans and 10-year-old sports t-shirts to work. They leave snippy little messages, like "Thank God it's Friday!" or "My weekend is gonna be so rad, yo!!" Well, what about the people who BEGIN their work week on Friday? What about the people whose weekend is Monday and Tuesday? What about them?

Do these people have a voice in our society? Do they have a champion?

Ladies and gentlemen, let's look at the plaintiff in this case, one Steven J. Suarez. He begins his work week at 7 p.m. on Friday. Then he'll work from 5 p.m. to 2 a.m. on Saturday. A weekend of girls, booze and heroin already a distant dream, Mr. Suarez chugs into work at 2 p.m. on Sunday, then the same on Monday. Finally, on Tuesday, the light shines at the end of the tunnel.

But no one cares.

Free tickets to big games will be raffled on Friday afternoons. All the "normals" will join up and go to Happy Hour at a local bar, where they will eat cupcakes from between a waitress' breasts. They will attend dances and functions on Saturday nights. They will have a beer and watch football on Sundays.

I shan't ask you to blame these people. They only take advantage of their situation. But when some people walk into said place of employment at 6 p.m. and ask "Why are you guys still here?" then all the power of our legal system should be utilized.

When a well-dressed employee looks askance at Mr. Suarez in his jeans and t-shirt as he prepares for the graveyard shift on Friday, that employee should be jailed. Mr. Suarez could very leave work on Saturday morning as the sun comes up, which has happened numerous times. So fuck off about his clothes, OK?

Sorry for the language, ladies and gentleman of the jury, but this is a grave topic, a topic far too often ignored.

When a crankypants 9-to-5'er turns up his nose at the off-color jokes that may or may not be told at 2:30 a.m. on a Sunday morning, I ask for the death penalty. The graveyarders can't go to the birthday parties, the July 4th barbecues, the concerts or even their own co-workers' weddings. But 9-to-5'ers have the temerity to criticize what goes on at work while they're passed out in some seedy backward alley awash in a array of bodily fluids? Really? Really???

While you sleep, they work. They provide the blanket of freedom the 9-to-5'ers enjoy and then these 9-to5'ers question the manner in which they provide it! I'd just assume they go on their way - to their box socials, book clubs and American Idol voting - and say "Thank you."

Either way, we don't give a damn what they think is appropriate!*

My colleague for the defense, Scumsack Dribblebottom, will say we choose this line of work. We make our own bed. And I grant him that, to some extent. It's part of the job. Mr. Suarez has known that for a long time. What Mr. Suarez detests is the pomposity, the obliviousness and the hypocrisy. He's angry, my friends. He's an angry, bitter old man. But he's right. He's sick of being an outcast -an other - because he does the dirty work.

If he's going to be robbed of any opportunity to engage in indiscriminate drug use in bars that are much too cool for him, then, by golly, someone's gotta go down with him.

I think the snooty Joe Iced Coffee who leaves work at 4:30 p.m. every day is a good place to start.

I rest my case.




*Unless, of course, you are a superior, then it's whatever you say, sir (or ma'am).