VLADIMIR
He said Saturday. (Pause.) I think.
ESTRAGON
You think.
VLADIMIR
I must have made a note of it. (He fumbles in his pockets, bursting with miscellaneous rubbish.)
ESTRAGON
(very insidious) But what Saturday? And is it Saturday? Is it not rather Sunday? (Pause.) Or Monday? (Pause.) Or Friday?
VLADIMIR
(looking wildly about him, as though the date was inscribed in the landscape) It's not possible!
ESTRAGON
Or Thursday? (1.135-40)
Waiting for Godot reminds us that our labeling of time is ultimately arbitrary. Words like "Saturday" or "Thursday" are made-up anyway, so we have no way of knowing what day it really is.
VLADIMIR
That passed the time.
ESTRAGON
It would have passed in any case.
VLADIMIR
Yes, but not so rapidly. (1.699-701)
Passing the time until nightfall has become Vladimir’s sole objective; because of his obsession with time, people have become mere entertainments, and he is capable of seeing them only as objects, not as humans.