Whenever Newsletter 3-9

I was sitting in the hair salon, thinking. Hair: one more body part that costs entirely too much to maintain. There was only one stylist, so I had time to play inside my head. I considered becoming a hippie to save on haircuts, but then I'd lose my money right back to marijuana and fixing my Volkswagen bus.

The hairdresser, Debbie, cut to the beat of her own drummer and that drummer seemed to be falling asleep. She even snipped in slow motion. Presently, she leaned in for a close-up of the customer's sideburn, which she shaved with surgical precision. She cringed at every error, felt imprisoned by her hang-ups, and otherwise reminded me of me.

So I sat and watched and wondered if I could add up all these moments of my life and deduct them from my age.

Finally, mercifully, Debbie finished. She twirled the client toward the mirror with a tired "tada!" Being a guy, he glanced at his reflection, made sure that it was, in fact, him, and nodded. Not bad.

Debbie followed him to the register, brushing his neck, admiring her work. The young man paid the cashier, tipped Debbie, and made his way out, pausing only to PUT ON A BASEBALL CAP! Debbie's eyes spewed from her face and rolled aflame across the floor. How dare... How could...

And he was gone.

The light caught Debbie's scissors as she turned to me and said, "Next."

For all I knew, she could snap. Or snip. Or worse. I told an off-color joke about how Siegfried and Roy were only safe because tigers don't eat fruit, and that seemed to reel her in. Nothing brings us together like bashing others.

As Debbie fell back into her styling trance, I considered how similar we were. I too put paid hours of attention to details that are largely overlooked. On a good day, my work gets a chuckle as it's crammed into the birdcage. I can't tell you how much time goes into those two seconds of mirth.

Maybe we should heed the Buddhists, who, as an exercise, spend hours creating sand designs (mandalas) and then, when the image cannot be further perfected, just rub it all away. Process is all we have, they say.

I wanted to share this with Debbie, but I don't think she cared for the Buddha. Judging by how she watched the clock, she may have been leaning toward a different philosopher. Jose Cuervo, perhaps.