I keep doing this. Often in Paris, on Tuesday I think it's Wednesday. I go to the journaliste to pick up the latest l'Officiel des Spectacles, and when I try to purchase it the owner very kindly won't let me. "The new one is out tomorrow, madame," he reminds me.
"Oh, quel jour sommes-nous?" I ask sheepishly. Sometimes the brain is not in gear, but I do remember that the new guide comes out on Wednesdays.
In the US, Wednesday is nothing special, really. At best it's known as "hump day," or in the past "Prince Spaghetti Day, and that's about it, right?
In France, mercredi is very different from the rest of the week. It's when new movies open, new plays open; when the events guides such as Pariscope or l'Officiel des Spectacles, and many weeklies appear on the newsstand. Time for my weekly dose of Le Canard Enchaîné.
On Wednesdays in France, many school children have only half a day of school, some have none at all.
Oh, and if some time you hear the sirens wailing in the middle of the day, don't worry about emergencies until you check your calendar. If it's the first Wednesday of the month, and it's noon, you can relax. That's when the fire alarms are tested.
I used to joke in pidgin French with my French cohorts: in lieu of saying "thank-you," I'd quip, "Mercredi beaucoup!"
The reply, of course, was, "Jeudi pas grand chose."