Reasons Why One Shouldn't Make Appointments of Any Sort at 8:30 on a Saturday Morning...

...Especially During Ramadan OR Why Our Nerd Hearts Her Hairstylist

It was a great error in judgement that prompted you to ask for the earliest available appointment with B, your hairstylist, for this past Saturday. Sure, you're one of those sick people who are up at practically the crack of dawn on most weekends, managing to fit in a long run, a wholesome breakfast and 1.5 errands all before 10AM. (Un)Fortunately, that "seize the day" bullshit attitude becomes just as meaningless to you on the weekends as it is to most of the population during the month of Ramadan. You realize too late that your exhausted body wants nothing more than to sleep in until--gulp--noon.

Instead, less than two hours after waking up for Suhoor--the light meal eaten before dawn by Muslims who then fast from dawn to dusk during Ramadan--you stumble out of your apartment towards the train station in more than a bit of a delirious stupor. And it's all a bad idea.

1) Interstate travel in a delirious stupor makes about as much sense as operating a unicycle while drunk: it's not a good idea. Luckily, there isn't much traffic on the streets (clearly, your town is populated by normal folks who sleep normal weekend hours) so, you manage to arrive at the train station in one piece;

2) You can't rely on caffeine while fasting, genius. Well, you can't rely on any solid or liquid sustenance but we all know that you, just like most of your fellow metropolitan dwellers, rely on that brown brewed nectar of the java gods for that morning jolt, which you simply can't have on this particular Saturday. Which is, once again, bad news. Once on the platform, there are many hazards present for one in a delirious-like stupor, ie, falling onto the tracks (a la Sleepless in Seattle; sigh, what a heartwarming romantic comedy), following a candy-offering (or, in this case, caffeine-offering) stranger and, last, but not least...

3) ...getting on the wrong train and not realizing that you're on the wrong train until you--after wondering for the briefest of moments why the train isn't going into Manhattan by way of Hoboken as it usually does on weekends--arrive at the wrong station. You're not supposed to swear out loud while fasting, so you read down a long and colorful list of obscenities in your mind. And it's rather satisfying.

4) So, because of your not so wonderful delirious stupor, you are now at the wrong station. You will have to return to the station whence you came in order to catch the right train into the city and everything should be fine, right? Wrong. Why? Because it's the weekend and the train runs on a retarded, one train every freakin' leap year schedule on the weekends. Effin' hell.

5) But you gotta do what you gotta do. So, you walk to other platform, from where trains run in the opposite direction. Strangely, you find yourself alone on the platform. You shrug and you wait. Every now and then a garbled message is played over the PA but you ignore it because you're not really all there. You're sort of nodding off, actually. Five minutes pass, then ten minutes and when the PA goes off a fifth time, you force your eyes and ears open; it is only then that you are able to make out what the hell the stupid Port Authority is trying to tell you: the platform on which you've been waiting patiently for over ten minutes, is, in fact, effin' closed for the weekend.

6) Wide awake now, you haul ass back to the platform whence you came and wait as patiently as you can for the train to arrive. But now it's 8:05 and the trains are running on the slow ass dumbass schedule and you know you're going to be late. And this is effed because you don't want to miss your appointment. And you're cold. And sleepy. And still very out of it. And you want to cry but instead, you just tap your foot, look at your watch and mutter to yourself.

7) The train arrives at 8:15. You return to your home station at 8:18. You curse the weekend schedule.

8) The train you must take arrives at 8:30. You're effed.

9) WHY THE EFF MUST THE PUSSY-WHIPPED TRAIN GO THROUGH EFFIN' POSER HOBOKEN ON THE WEEKENDS? WHY DOESN'T THE HOBOKEN LINE RUN? AND WHY THE HELL DOES THE TRAIN HAVE TO SIT IN THAT STANK UGLY BLUE ASS STATION FOR LIKE AN HOUR BEFORE IT MOVES AGAIN? MUST WE MAKE SURE EVERY SINGLE YUPPIE WASHED OUT FRAT BOY VAMPIRE IS ON BOARD BEFORE PULLING OUT? IS THAT REALLY NECESSARY.

10) The train pulls out of Hoboken at 8:38. Your heart sinks when you realize that the train will enter your destination station in reverse; meaning that your genius strategy of getting in the last car, thereby ensuring that once the train stops, yours will be the car closest to the exit, has backfired. You're dead last. You suck.

11) You arrive at your destination station at 8:43. You still need to walk a good 10 minutes to make it to the salon, so you decide to flail down a cab as you frantically call the salon to tell them you're on your way.

12) The goddamn cabbie finds every freakin' red light on the way to the salon and you hate him a little. You also hate being an ungratefully rude biatch, but you can't help but throw dollar bills at him as you scramble out of the cab. You forget to say thanks.

13) You finally arrive, nearly 20 minutes late and there, standing by the door is your hairstylist, B. Upon seeing him, you begin to blather about the horrible morning you're having, stuttering and stammering and near tears. He calmly pats your hand and says reassuringly: "The trains are a NIGHTMARE on the weekends, AREN'T they? NIGHTMARE! But you're here. Breathe in and out darling. There we go. In and out. Feeling better now are we? Wow, you do look lovely first thing in the morning. And how HORRIBLE are men? Don't you HATE them sometimes..."

...and somehow, it all almost seems worth it...