2/24/2003

2/24/2003 - 12:00

3 (Counting Down)

Squish wet Saturday slop splash into the barber shop; Bob's. Very hairy guy (said he'd see him next Saturday) was in the chair sporting grey cowboy boots and big belt buckle. Snip, brush, "thanks."

Small shop, one chair, tile floor with brick red walls. It was my second time there and again the wigs intrigued me. Along the back wall on cream shelves stood white Styrofoam heads with mops, all shapes colors and sizes. Who comes to this barber for a wig? Enough to require an inventory-I spied it while I sat still and quiet in the chair; a two letter numbering system (color and style?)on the brown boxes stacked in the back room.

The barber, Bob, was straight out of the movie 'The Man Who Wasn't there'. He has a vacuum attached to his clippers so all you get is a paper towel stuffed in your collar. He asked me how old I was, then told me I should be bald by now: tight scalp. Tight scalp? He explained blood doesn't get to the top and hair can't grow. He put his vacuum equiped clippers down and said "for example". He grabbed my head just below the brow with both hands and squeezed as he slid them up to the top of my dome. "Do you feel it tingle?" Yes, I did. "There's nothing you can do about it." Oh-thanks. Thirteen dollars and back outside-raindrops hitting full force on my 'tight' scalp.

At the grocery store down early morning too bright empty aisles for a CD mailer. The stupid headlines of the check-out lane papers make me sad. Smiley lady takes $2.00 and gives back sixteen cents without touching my hand.

Stuffed it full of goodies in the car and carried the cardboard envelope into the post office. Long line. Somebody didn't show up for work. Pleasant old men on either side of me made happy chatter; current events and such. The one in front told me of a tornado in Florida the night before that killed twenty people. Again the lady behind the counter was all smiles and happy and "have a good day" and meant it.

I watched the news for the Florida tragedy when I got home and there was no mention of a tornado. I felt a little let down that the old man had created a story there in our happy peaceful post office line. Like the sorrowful news papers at the grocery store; for reaction only, all style and no substance.

I felt the tingle-and I knew there was nothing I could do about it.