Barber Bore

I got my monthly haircut yesterday, and I had the misfortune of getting seated with a new guy at my local shop. I say “misfortune” because he was a talker . . . about anything that popped into his empty head. All I want to do when I get my hair cut is sit there with eyes closed, waiting for the final snip and brush. This guy went on and on, snipping and snipping at the same areas he’d already snipped, talking and talking, firing conversational bullets at the back of my head. I think he went over the same spots again and again because he didn’t want to let me get away. Here I was, a captive audience for his inanities. He was the barbershop equivalent of the guy at a party who captures and holds you in a corner while he nails you there with his words, not conversing, which suggests two-way communication, just using you as a sounding board for whatever pops into his empty head. Saints preserve us all from bores like this barber. I know he’ll never again see me in his chair. I’ll wait for anyone else, or I’ll just walk out and allow my hair to grow to my waist.

Every day we get less and less hard-copy mail of any importance, more and more junk stuff that we immediately throw away. I can see a time in the very near future when the postal service will be a thing of the past. They’ll be like the harness makers after Henry Ford’s introduction of the automobile, victims of an advancing future. Another thing that will soon be gone, that nearly worthless copper coin, the penny. As I understand it, it costs more to produce a penny than what that penny is worth. Bye bye mail service, bye bye penny. Hello, future.