If your surly employer won’t recognize your Friday desires, rise up. Make the Rockaways your Wainscott, make Point Pleasant your Point O’Woods. There is nothing hotter and therefore more summery than to seize and repurpose the habits of your oppressors. Let us all be houseguests in the parlor of privilege. Maybe someday the master’s tools can dismantle the master’s summer house. They may not have one for long.
Summer Fridays are most likely on the way out for two reasons: Old media can’t afford them, and new media won’t allow them. This summer, Condé Nast’s Friday workdays in the World Trade Center will end at 12:30 p.m., ‘‘business needs permitting,’’ as the memo put it. (Beware, the coffee bar will close at 3 sharp.) But good ol’ Time Inc., Condé’s soon-to-be neighbor, canceled its summer Fridays as of last year. Sanctioned hooky and layoffs don’t pair well.
The kicker to the end of summer Fridays is, of course, that the people who live the in “parlor of privilege” full-time won’t be giving up their residency anytime soon.
Photo by Eve Chan