HOLIDAY

I can never think of anything to say to my hairdresser, Ryan, and, luckily, we seem to have reached an understanding over the years that we won't struggle to drum up small talk. I can just sit in the chair and relax under his gentle attentions, and he can have a break from his occupational chitchat. Occasionally some topic presents itself — the lyrics of a song on the stereo, some dramatic weather visible through the windows, a snippet of conversation from elsewhere in the salon — and then we can chat easily and naturally. Sometimes he becomes quite carried away with an opinion and talks at length, halting his swift scissor-work to gesture broadly with both hands and to catch my eye in the mirror. He understands that I delight in gentle mockery of the salon culture, and he readily indulges me with whispered asides and raised eyebrows. But mostly we say very little and are happy that way.

Yesterday when I got there Ryan was busy highlighting a client's hair, a bizarre, almost medical-looking procedure involving big cardboard tabs and stained elbow-length gloves. So he instructed the new guy at the front desk to shampoo and comb me. I like how "shampoo" is used as a verb in beauty shops but not really anywhere else. The new guy's name was Todd and he had a tall blond pompadour that knocked me out. His eyes were big and blue and fairly bloodshot. He called me "sweetheart." And I knew right away that conversation was going to be expected of me. "What are you doing this afternoon, doll?" he asked as he squirted a blob of shampoo into his beefy palm. I'm never in the mood for a whole bunch of questions about myself, so I turned the tables and began interrogating him. When had he started at the salon? Where was he from? Etc. I found that a single question could launch him into a lengthy, florid monologue, so I was relieved of having to say anything myself beyond a monosyllable of polite interest and a quick follow-up question to instigate a fresh soliloquy. Todd's story was that he had been at the salon five or six weeks, beginning as a part-timer and then going full-time. When I asked, "Are you from here?" he said, "I'm from here now." And that made me laugh and suspect an illicit, colorful past, which maybe also explained the pompadour — an attempt at a bold new identity? This impression deepened when Todd mentioned his wife. It was hard to imagine Todd with a woman, frankly. Maybe this wife is just a beard for the new life? Or maybe not. I always enjoy when people who look totally gay aren't and vice versa. Especially vice versa. It keeps things fresh.

Todd told me how he had grown up in San Diego and still went "out there," with the wife of course, to see Mom. But he hated California and was always ready to get back on the plane after three days. Everyone there, he claimed, was rude and in a hurry and no one had time for anyone else. This is kind of my take on life in general, but I kept the observation to myself because I didn't want to get him on a tangent. "Rude" and "in a hurry" led to how California was also "way too expensive" and "plasticky." I was starting to really like Todd — a hairdresser with a giant bleached pompadour complaining earnestly about the superficiality of human existence.

When Todd was done shampooing and combing me out, he deposited me back with Ryan. We settled into our silent routine, but all that chat from Todd had made me feel a bit more social than usual, so I tried to think of something to say to Ryan. I asked him if he was going to do the Easter thing with his kids, and this turned out to be exactly the right thing to send him on a rant. Turns out he can't stand holiday traditions that are mainly commercial orgies, how all these religious holidays have a secular, Hallmark counterpart that is actually the REAL event, how grocery stores recolor and repackage the same stupid candy so that at any given time of the year there's the same crap with a different wrapper, how holidays are really just a goofy excuse to overindulge. I was voicing my agreement with "yeahs" and "sures." And this conversation took us all the way to the blowdry.

When Ryan clicked off the dryer, I heard Todd telling a customer that he was from San Diego but whenever he visited there now he was ready to get back on the plane after about three days. He didn't like it because everyone was always rude and in a hurry and didn't have time for anyone else.