Where most people can't wait for Fridays to arrive, I dread them.

In journalism days, Fridays tend to be the day where everyone or everything goes completely whacko. Mondays are like a panacea, relaxed, peaceful — a day to plan for how much time you're going to waste coming up with inane column ideas.

There have been several Fridays where I'm sitting here typing until 7 p.m. or longer while others are putting on Axe body spray in anticipation of a long night of drinking Bud Light or hoping the manly scent of them drenched in Axe Apollo will ward off drug-sniffing dogs.

This past Friday was a prime example, not so much in the pulling of a long shift, but just another reason Friday should be labeled Whacko Day.

This column serves as a companion piece to one I did in January , not the one on The Striper Club, but the one about winter demanding you show your true character. I guess many folks skipped that column because ...

I had a few free hours Friday so I decided to “go into town” — a phrase I use even though I live in the city limits because it sounds quaint — to find a cord so I can connect my iPhone to the auxiliary hole in my car to listen to my weird music when I want to take a break from listening to ESPN radio.

I should have stayed in the boonies.

What I found in town was enough to drive me insane. The first thing I thought about after getting that cord was to download DMX's Up in Here and play it as loud as I could as I waded through the mass driving hysteria created by the first day of sunshine and above 40-degree temperatures in what seemed like a century ago. This DMX song has the lines, “Y'all gonna make me act a fool,” and “Y'all gonna make me lose my mind.”

On Wednesday and Thursday, mind you, I had the roads essentially to myself, only me and other competent winter drivers, so it was a pleasure not to be troubled by earthquake-causing bass or motorcycles revving their engines at stoplights, causing my brain to be turned into Jello.

But on this Friday, the Friday I now call The Friday of My Discontent, my simple journey to find a simple cord turned into a grisly nightmare of dodging traffic on an LA freeway or trying to escape New York City at rush hour.

There was a texting person in a big old truck who cut me off; many more drivers who seemed to think their phones were a driving guide the way they stared intently into them, scaring me that on a pleasant Friday where I had one mission to accomplish, it was going to be my last Friday on earth and my last thought was going to be, “Y'all gonna make me act a fool.”

There was a man standing in the middle of a turn lane who I thought wanted to join me on my last Friday and a bicyclist riding shakily against traffic on Julian Allsbrook who apparently wanted to do the same thing.

The line to Premier Boulevard looked like a funeral procession for the Pope and I'm left wondering if I'm ever going to get that cord. After finally getting through the line of cars apparently going to Walmart to buy Valentine's balloons that will go flaccid after a couple of days — their best use is for sucking helium so you can sound like Mickey Mouse — I made it to my destination — the Verizon store.

But when I opened the door, I uttered a bad word under my breath and left. That ugly Friday was the day everyone decided it was time to get a new phone, pay their bills, contest their bills or think they could win the affections of their beloved by getting them an OtterBox.

I then made it to RadioShack where they had the cord, but in my infinite wisdom had to ask about iPods — my bad there kids. I finally decided it was better to just buy the cord. I've gone this long without an iPod, it's not going to hurt me to go a little longer.

With the group Lone Justice now playing through my car speakers via my phone, I thought all would be good. It wasn't. The lines were long getting out, more cutting off that even Maria McKee's sweet voice couldn't lower my blood pressure. After making a stop at Murphy, where I was nearly hit twice, and where I mocked the long line of people getting their vehicles washed in anticipation of Saturday's big rain, I decided to hit one more store where they sell Cow Tales, which of recent has become one of my favorite treats.

The pleasant clerk asked me how I was doing and I told her the story of my Friday of discontent, ending the conversation by saying, “I'd be happier if there was snow on the road.”

This would be because in most instances imaginable, I am weird, and I still believe winter demands you show your true character — Lance Martin