Train in Vain

Today is going to be another one of those busy days that I’m getting far too used to. It also includes another appointment with the dentist—my real, designated dentist—Dr. Acula. I mean Czernick. (Sorry Mitch Headburg. Couldn’t resist.)

Actually, Dr. Czernick is much happier to see me leave her office while not drooling blood than the perio guy who won’t let a 2-minute consultation go by without puncturing an artery.

Anyway, the day started in the usual way, with me not being able to fall asleep until the wee hours, then having weird dreams. The unusual part—that of waking up at the ungodly hour of 6:30—began with the jangling march of R.E.M.’s “Finest Worksong” snapping me from the good part of a dream that’s forever gone. I hit snooze to try and return to the dream state, but it was not one of those “To Be Continued” dreams.

Resigning myself to the actuality of awakening, I sprang up and fed Lefty his breakfast. He hasn’t been eating lately and it’s been worrying me. I, along with Chris, my ex-boss, good friend, and cat expert, have been attributing it to his ESP. He seems to have a sixth sense when I’m going to be leaving for an extended period of time. Since I’m moving to Manhattan (and, yes, bringing him with me) we were thinking that might be the vibe triggering his sixth sense.

But, something that happens all to infrequently to me actually occurred last night. Logic kicked in. I’ve been unable to eat comfortably for quite a long time because of my tooth.

What if Lefty has a toothache?

So now that possibility is going to take hostage of my mind. And since I dropped off my car at the body shop this morning, and since it’s not going to be ready at least until Friday, there’s not much I can do about it. Call the vet and make an appointment for Saturday, I guess. But first I’m going to have to get a crate for the big bubba. He’s not gonna like that.

Like I said, I dropped off my car at the body shop this morning. At, like, 8:00. This is crazy, these hours I’m keeping. I was about to call a cab to get a ride from the body shop to the train station so that I could make it into the city for my appointment with Dr. Acula who really isn’t Dr. Acula. A 10:30 AM appoint! Again, with the crazy hours!

I’m on the train to Manhattan now. (Which, hilariously, is the number one thing all time by far that people say when they’re on their cell phone on the train. It’s almost the only thing they say. “Hello, Bob? What’s up? I’m on the train. Bye.”) The train is due in Penn Station at 9:45. I’ll give it 15 minutes of being late due to congestion. Then, it will take me 3 minutes to walk to the southbound 1 train platform. Then I wait 3 more minutes for a train. Mathematically, that adds up to something like 10:06 AM. (What the fuck is up with these crazy hours? I’m supposed to be in bed, dreaming of waffles and bacon.) That gives me 24 minutes to make it to 5^th Ave and 20^th St. I’ll take the 1 train to 23^rd, and hoof it two loooong avenues east. That should get me there just about on time.

We’ll see how the day goes after that.

I’m on the train to Manhattan now!

*

Guess what? The day got shitty.

The train pulls into Penn Station and I instinctively check my iPhone (making sure not to call anyone to tell them I’m on the train.) There’s a voicemail waiting for me from a cell number in Manhattan. “This weird,” I think. “Bad weird.”

Sure enough, it is. I check the voice mail and it’s Menna, the receptionist from Dr. Acula/Czarnick’s office. Dr. Acula/Czarnick called in sick today. I have two options, reschedule or take an appointment with Dr. Ip. She forgot the third option: Time travel back into the past and don’t get on the train to NYC.

Normally, I’d take option two, the appointment with another doctor in the practice. But it once took this doctor an hour-and-a-half to fit a restoration. I was in the fucking chair with her using some bad ass dental pulverizes. I ended up with lockjaw, PTSD, and a restoration that fell out anyway a month ago to start this who circle of absurdity.

I called Lynn and she, as usual, got a good laugh out of the whole thing. Even though it was at my own expense, I got a god laugh out of it, too.

I decided to catch the next train home, which would be boarding in a little over a half-an-hour. I called Chelsea to make an appointment with Alysia to tame the rat’s nest on top of my head. She had a 12:30 open and my train, with any luck, would pull in to Red Bank at about 12:00. I killed the time before boarding by perusing through the glamorous shops of the Penn Station 7^th Ave Concourse.

First I went into Duane Reade and bought two scrumptious cans of Beef-a-roni for lunch later (it was on sale!) Then I bought two bottles of PowerAde (also on sale!) and a bag of ultimate munchies: Doritos, Cheetos, pretzels and Sun Chips all mixed together. I’ll be dining like a king today.

Then I went in to one of the four Hudson Bookstores that are within 200 yards of each other. I saw a mouse run under the soft drink cooler. Mmmmm. Mouse juice.

The time passed quickly and I boarded the train. I have some books with me, but I decided to type this, instead. Now I’m going to read a Staples Catalog and fantasize about being organized. I think it’s becoming a fetish for me.

Over and out. For now.

*

Made it to my haircut appointment. Got the usual. The one that makes my hair look like and feel like the fluff of a baby chick at first, then settles down after a few days to look datedly rugged and rockstar-ish, then bed-heady, then just plain randomly tussled, then completely unkempt. It stays that way for a few months, then, I repeat the process.

Baby chick stage.

This time, I went seven months between haircuts. Alysia, the woman who cuts my hair was shocked at how horribly my hair had grown out, and began making fun of me for the mullet that had began growing on the back of my head like a vestige tail. While she was cutting, we discussed our respective spouses. She’s impressed that I met someone with the Job-like patience to tolerate me. I complemented Lynn on the same thing. Alysia was taking her boyfriend to the Knicks game at the Garden for his birthday tonight, so I praised her for that, and then blind-sided her with the pics of the Red Sox games at Fenway Park Lynn took me to for my birthday. I think I won. Not that it was a contest or anything. But I think it’s obvious Lynn and I celebrate birthdays at sporting events like a boss compared to them. We rock.

*