Take Your Gossip Pick
I decided that, after six months, it was time to go put some color on my hair and cut the strands that never stay where they're supposed to. So, on this rainy morning I went into town, drove around cursing that for such a small town there's no place to park, waited for a rain squall to pass, and walked up the street to the haven of gossip.
Because that's what a hair salon is. Just like a barber shop but with slightly different topics bandied about.
Conversation one:
"I wouldn't use a hair iron if I were you."
"But it's the only way to style my hair the way I like it."
"No, you can also use a brush and hair dryer. It'll take longer, but it won't hurt your hair as much. See how dry the ends are?"
Conversation two:
"So they called me and asked me if I could wash the linen for the hostel this weekend because they were going to have people later this week."
"And how did the clothes dry with this damp?"
"The sheets okay, but the towels are another story. Can I borrow your dryer this afternoon?"
"Sure. I can have my husband take you the towels when they're finished. I can't understand how they expected towels to dry with this weather."
Conversation three:
"I watched the debate last night between Sánchez and Rajoy."
"How was it?"
"How that youngster got the courage to insult the president is beyond me. After all, the fox knows more from experience than from being a fox. He's been at this job longer and knows more."
"Politics is beyond me."
Conversation four:
"So I went to the doctor on Saturday with such a pain in my foot! And fever!"
"And what did she tell you?"
"That I needed to go to surgery and stop working."
"And will you?"
"How? I run the business by myself. I don't make enough to pay another person. If I stop working I have to close."
"True. The doctor thinks everyone can just take a vacation on a whim."
Conversation five:
"I heard the bell this morning. Who died?"
"Maruja who lived on the upper road to Isorna."
"Wasn't she the one who had a daughter who got married to a German?"
"No, that was her sister. Maruja had two children. They both left to live on their own. One went to Madrid and I think the other is in Paris. Nowadays parents die alone. It's not like it used to be."
"These are tough times."
"Not like the times we used to know. Let's just hope they don't come again or many will die of hunger."
"Let's hope."
And in between, the snip snip of the scissors and swish of the combs. The water washes the waiting hair and the broom sweeps up the discarded locks. The hair dryer at times creates a white noise, making the conversations more private, until it suddenly stops and everyone is caught in mid-shout. Voices modulate once more and conversations become public. The rain squalls come and will sometimes blow someone in off the street, along with a scream of warm, damp air. Gradually, the customers change, and my turn arrives to look in the mirror and pay. I do so, take my leave, and walk out into the blustery grey day. Hopefully, I won't wait another six months to visit. My hair would appreciate it. So would my ear for gossip.
Because that's what a hair salon is. Just like a barber shop but with slightly different topics bandied about.
Conversation one:
"I wouldn't use a hair iron if I were you."
"But it's the only way to style my hair the way I like it."
"No, you can also use a brush and hair dryer. It'll take longer, but it won't hurt your hair as much. See how dry the ends are?"
Conversation two:
"So they called me and asked me if I could wash the linen for the hostel this weekend because they were going to have people later this week."
"And how did the clothes dry with this damp?"
"The sheets okay, but the towels are another story. Can I borrow your dryer this afternoon?"
"Sure. I can have my husband take you the towels when they're finished. I can't understand how they expected towels to dry with this weather."
Conversation three:
"I watched the debate last night between Sánchez and Rajoy."
"How was it?"
"How that youngster got the courage to insult the president is beyond me. After all, the fox knows more from experience than from being a fox. He's been at this job longer and knows more."
"Politics is beyond me."
Conversation four:
"So I went to the doctor on Saturday with such a pain in my foot! And fever!"
"And what did she tell you?"
"That I needed to go to surgery and stop working."
"And will you?"
"How? I run the business by myself. I don't make enough to pay another person. If I stop working I have to close."
"True. The doctor thinks everyone can just take a vacation on a whim."
Conversation five:
"I heard the bell this morning. Who died?"
"Maruja who lived on the upper road to Isorna."
"Wasn't she the one who had a daughter who got married to a German?"
"No, that was her sister. Maruja had two children. They both left to live on their own. One went to Madrid and I think the other is in Paris. Nowadays parents die alone. It's not like it used to be."
"These are tough times."
"Not like the times we used to know. Let's just hope they don't come again or many will die of hunger."
"Let's hope."
And in between, the snip snip of the scissors and swish of the combs. The water washes the waiting hair and the broom sweeps up the discarded locks. The hair dryer at times creates a white noise, making the conversations more private, until it suddenly stops and everyone is caught in mid-shout. Voices modulate once more and conversations become public. The rain squalls come and will sometimes blow someone in off the street, along with a scream of warm, damp air. Gradually, the customers change, and my turn arrives to look in the mirror and pay. I do so, take my leave, and walk out into the blustery grey day. Hopefully, I won't wait another six months to visit. My hair would appreciate it. So would my ear for gossip.
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