Journal: 06/01/06

June is here and with it, a sunny day that would have been good for pictures at the beach if I weren’t shackled to the front desk. Luckily, it was "Monterey sunny," where the temperature stays in the low sixties and the marine layer makes an appearance for a couple of hours before burning off in the afternoon. Days like this one are a big part of the reason I fight so hard to stay on the Monterey Peninsula. I didn’t even mind going to work today.

The Day Gets Off To a Rousing Start

I needed a haircut really bad. I hadn’t been to a barber (yes, I use a regular barber, a nice 79-year old Pilipino named Ray who cut hair in the Navy) for almost four months. Three months of barber abstinence is my usual time limit, but with all that went on in the last couple of months and the lack of money, four months of unruly, sprouting hair was beginning to seriously obstruct my vision, not to mention the annoyance of brushing it out of my face countless times a day. I don’t know how women with long hair put up with it.

I was desperate enough to get my hair bobbed, that last night I asked Bill if he still had his electric clippers and, if so, would be take a stab at cutting my hair. Not only was my mane out of control, but also I couldn’t see myself showing up for a job interview looking like a wild thing. During these financial troubles, preserving whatever credibility I have left is of the utmost importance. This haircut was important!

Bill had other ideas though. Overnight he grew feathers and, unknown to me, hatched an alternative plan. To hear him tell it, sometime during the night he balked at actually cutting the mess of hair I had grown. A slight trim, maybe, touching up errant hairs, okay, but not such an intimidating weed-whacking as I sorely needed.

I got up this morning at 10:30 AM ready for him to go at my hair, but he suggested that we go to my barber instead. He had taken $15.00 out of his account for the purpose, so to the barber we motored. I was ecstatic. Where I once envisioned an Iron Curtain sort of scalping, I was going to someone who I’ve used for over five years and trusted. I was willing to settle for a sheep shearing from Bill, it would have done the job, but I knew that my barber, Ray, would make me look presentable, no matter what.

I was right; Ray did his usual, diligent job on my head. Ray is used to the volume of my hair because I always go to him with tons of it. I don’t think he has ever had the occasion to simply "trim" my hair in all the time I’ve been seeing him. Afterward, I felt much better, money problems put aside for the moment and invigorated by knowing that I looked presentable as well as competent to any potential contributor to my income. I fairly swelled with confidence. This was a great and satisfying start to what I otherwise had expected to be a dull morning.