James O'Brien

I thought I might have the solution tonight to the usual Tuesday night dilemma of how to pass time. Sitting at home watching yet another episode of “The Simpsons”, the desire to eat something got the better of me. And so I decided to head down the street to eat something, anything.

But I promised myself, it wasn’t gonna be take-away. I was going to sit down somewhere all by myself (I no longer have any sense of shame about eating alone) to hoe into something very tasty. Walking past all of the usual suspect places – Thai, Turkish, Indian – I ended up at Bar Cleveland where the “house burger” proved irresistible. As it was, there was something about the melted cheese that made it taste like every other kind of “pub food” I’ve ever eaten.

As I was handed my number, the woman sitting at the bar next to me observed, “oh look, the number 12 has a star on it”. “That’s because I’m special”, I replied, not especially keen to engage in any further conversation. Maybe I should have? Maybe she, too, was looking for something to do on a Tuesday night that didn’t involve watching television, that didnt involve ironing, that was a little bit social without being “too social” if you know what I mean?

It was then that I cast my eye around the room. Aside from the woman at the bar, I was conspicuously the only person sitting alone (outside, of course, of the pokie room). To my left, there was a small group of “big boozers” and in front of me, a larger group of women it appeared had been playing sport. “Maybe I should play sport?”, I thought to myself. “Nah, not my style”.

Maybe I should reply to that article in the Sydney Star Observer where they were looking for people interesting in history to do some volunteer work at Pride? Yes, I’ll do that, I thought to myself, as soon as I get home.

As it was, it was already nine o’clock by the time I walked in the door, and so I decided it was probably a little rude to call at such an hour on a Tuesday night. After all, other people already have a use for their Tuesday night, even if I don’t.

I mean, I used to fill up my Tuesday night’s by watching “The Bill”, but that’s just a distant memory. And when I was in a relationship, there were all sorts of ways in which a Tuesday night could be made meaningful. As it is, though, Tuesday remains the one night of my week without an identity.