Is the greater tradeoff for being bequeathed with an extra day to do nothing during the week allowing yourself to get used to it or having to accept on Tuesday that your life is still shit and the faux socialite status the holiday gave you was all an illusion? Depends on the type of Labor Day celebrator you are, one imagines. Since there are few “sit home and relaxers,” we won’t acknowledge them.
For the partier–the can’t stop, won’t stop type who wants to make the most of alcoholic intake–the final day before returning to work takes on a life of its own, with the office worker’s Hyde personality coming out in full force to capitalize on the identity he or she can’t fully express in the workplace. That identity is Edie Sedgwick going around poking people with needles. Once you let the spirit of the holiday invade you, there’s no turning back, and you soon forget that a job still awaits you come Tuesday.
And though the power of your responsible Dr. Jekyll side will eventually make itself useful and wake you the fuck out of bed with ten minutes to spare before getting on the train, your Mr. Hyde will still be manifesting itself on an aesthetic level.