"Hello, Ernie," Jory said.
Ernie turned the dial to the next station.
"Hello, Ernie," the face of Jory said.
At the next spot on the dial: "Hello, Ernie." The next: "Hello, Ernie."
There were five stations that Ernie's set was able to receive. When the fifth station said "Hello, Ernie," and Jory's tired face looked out at him, Ernie shrugged, took another sip from his can of beer and sat down to watch the set.
That happened Wednesday night. Wednesday morning began like this:
Ernie woke feeling bored. It seemed he was always bored these days. An empty can of beer and a crumpled pack of cigarettes rested on top of the dead television. All he did nights was watch TV.
Ernie sighed and thanked God that today was Wednesday. Tonight, when he came home from work, he would be over the hump ... only two days left and then the week end. Ernie didn't know for sure what he would do on his week end—go bowling, maybe—but whatever he did it was sure to be better than staying home every night.
Oh, he supposed he could go out, just once in a while, during the work week. Some of the guys at the plant did. But then, the guys that did go out week nights weren't as sharp at their jobs as Ernie was. Sometimes they showed up late and pulled other stuff like that. You couldn't do things like that too often, Ernie thought virtuously. Not if it was a good job, a job that you wanted to keep. You had to be sharp.
Ernie smiled. He was sharp. A growing feeling of virtue began to replace his boredom.