Blue bracelets, blue bolo ties, blue rings and even blue Navajo baskets and rugs; at Twin Rocks Trading Post we have lots of blue things. Recently I realized there was yet another blue item to take into account. This realization came last Tuesday as I sat in Stephanie’s barber chair.
Although the day dawned bright and beautiful, I did not. Thinking I might have a slower, more relaxing morning, I did not crawl out of bed as early as usual. I had been working late at Twin Rocks Cafe the night before, and thought I might sleep in a bit before heading down to the trading post. Unfortunately, the telephone rang at 7:00 a.m. Not much later my cell phone alarm began to chime. In spite of my reluctance to do so, I reached over to discover what I had overlooked.
Looking at the illuminated screen, I noticed it was time to get moving. I had forgotten my monthly hair cut, without which I would begin looking like the mop head I was in the 1970s. I had been forward thinking enough to set the notice 45 minutes ahead, so I had approximately 15 minutes to shave, shower and get on the road to Blanding; a 30 minute drive. That was cutting it closer than I thought prudent. Reasoning that I could look a little like Grizzly Adams until the following day, I forewent the razor and jumped directly into the tub.
Arriving at Stephanie’s salon a few minutes late, I slipped into the chair like I had full command of my schedule. Since my record was generously tarnished from prior mishaps, Stephanie knew better. I fully expected her to say, “So, you almost forgot again, didn’t you?” She is, however, kind and did not bring up my previous tardies and absences.
As she clipped my still damp locks, we talked about our children, the local sports teams and a variety of other topics. As the conversation continued, hair began to build up on the apron laid out in my lap. As the pile grew, I noticed something funny about the accumulation. It looked . . . well, blue; not dark brown like it had when I was young, not salt and pepper like it was when I was not so young, but blue.
Now I had heard of the blue hairs of Arizona; those older individuals who drive their Cadillacs slowly around Phoenix, Sun City and Tucson, causing freeway delays and pileups on an almost daily basis. Barry and I had even seen a few of them in the trading post. I had looked on in wonder as they paraded through the store, seemingly unconcerned about the shade of their tresses. I had even considered whether I would suffer the same fate. I had not, however, intended to be one of them so soon. What did this mean? How was I to act? What would I do? Like the moment I received my first AARP notice, there were so many unanswered questions, so many serious concerns to address.
For years after the divorce, when I arrived at her door to retrieve Dacia for our monthly visits, my ex-wife would offer to dye my hair. I had always assumed she was concerned that my appearance might somehow reflect poorly on her. Never mind that she is five years younger. Now, however, I knew the truth; she had anticipated this moment, she had foreseen how soon it would arrive and wanted to minimize the trauma.
Heading back to the trading post with my newly styled pate, I had yet another realization; I would surely have to hit Barry up for a raise. How else would I afford that Cadillac my new status required or find the additional time necessary to slowly drive around Bluff disrupting traffic?
With warm regards,
Steve, Barry and The Team
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