On Saturday night we gave a guy a ride into town, because he hitchhiked by standing in front of the car with a flashlight. Older gentleman, looked like he walked out of the Irish countryside: Van Dyke beard, tweed jacket and vest, classic flat cap. Also drunk (and according to Anna, gay). He sort of pushed his way in: I had to clear the seat from passenger-related stuff, and as Anna started to say "I don't know if we have space" he interrupted in the middle and said, "Oh, that's all right, that's fine" and started occupying space as I cleared it.
I asked him what he was heading in for, and he said, "Oh, only on Sunday nights, there's an OPEN MIKE, and I am going to take advantage of it! I'm going to read some poems."
"Whose poems are you going to read?"
"Well, I have some fresh ones here...yes! Sunday night!"
Anna and I sort of looked at each other: he was very excited, but it was Saturday, not Sunday.
I said, "You know, it's actually Saturday."
"It is?! Are you sure?"
"Yep. Want us to turn around?"
"Oh, Saturday! Then I'll be dancing! They always have a band on Saturdays, and I'll be dancing! Marvelous!"
And just think, after dancing, he still had Sunday to look forward to.