In Lebanon Time Ain’t Nothing But A Number

I’m punctual. Yes, it’s a terrible plague I’ve been cursed with every since I was old enough to make appointments. It’s been a source of my absolute disdain for my entire tenure here.

You see my problem is that not only am I on time to all meetings I’m usually at least ten minutes early. No, it’s not because I’m overtly eager and easily excitable and believe me it’s not because I wouldn’t have LOVED to snooze my alarm for an extra half hour in bed as I contemplate if any job is ever worth interrupting peaceful sleep. I’m punctual and my punctuality is simply out of my control.

I’m the idiot that continues to fall into the same trap over and over again. Like the girlfriend that keeps taking back her cheating man. If someone tells me to meet them at Paul’s at 11am, not only would I be there at 11am, but I would’ve also have gotten a table and taken the liberty of getting us some bottled water. By the time the clock strikes 11:20am it all starts coming back to me and I beat myself up for naively forgetting that Beirut time is unique to the rest of the world in the sense that a meeting at 11:00 am by default is a meeting at 11:30am.

So after receiving several pitiful looks from waiters as I play Fruit Ninja on my phone and ponder the idea of simply walking out  for the sake of making a point,  my appointment finally arrives and says the words every punctual person dreads  to hear “ Oh you’re here already? Sorry, traffic was crazy.”

It’s like throwing salt into an open wound. Yes, if you can see me then that definitely means I’m there, unless you’re prone to seeing things, and let’s not act like we live in a country where traffic comes as a surprise, we both know I didn’t arrive by helicopter.

Though May is a little late in the year for resolutions, I’ve decided to do the best I can to never make it on time for anything ever again; heck I may even ditch a few meetings just for the fun of it. (Just kidding boss)