The boys and I went to get haircuts this evening and I got stuck with the beauty operator who is, in my opinion, the least skilled of the 10 or so employees on the payroll. She’s not horrible but I have had to go home and touch-up my own hair a couple of times after she’s busted my wig in the past. Not only are her trade skills a bit lacking, but her brand of small talk is just kind of off-putting to me. It’s like we don’t really get each other but instead of just being comfortable in the silence, she forces me in to having inane conversation with her each time I’m in her chair.
Today’s session started off about as well as it could with her apologizing in advance for not being too conversational today. Five seconds of silence didn’t pass before she felt compelled to tell me about her fresh head cold and pesky chest congestion as she put her hands all over my head. Hands that have surely wiped fresh mucus from her diseased nose. Hands that have surely received the yield of a chesty cough.
I don’t know most of what she said after that because I was so irritated and worried by her decision to come to work sick today and lay her hands on me, but I can tell you that the apology for not being conversational was unnecessary – she was more conversational today than she has ever been.
Anyway, I can’t wait to see how long it will take for my summer cold to incubate in my system before it hatches into a fully grown and highly active virus. Or maybe I won’t catch it? Because when I shot her a nervous look when she first told me she had a nasty cold, she assured me that she wasn’t contagious. Thanks for the good news, Dr. Oz, whatever you say.