By the Dashboard Lights

by Dave Friedli

03/27/03

Snippets

Snip. Snip. Snip.

A lone car rolls by on the brick street outside the window. It will

be thirty minutes before another passes.

Snip. Snip. Snip.

Throughout town, most people have turned out the lights for the

night. Dave Letterman's monologue is a distant memory.

Snip. Snip. Snip.

It is closer to tomorrow than it is to today, if that is somehow

within the realm of Einstein's time/space continuum.

Snip. Snip. Snip.

It is late, but the lights inside the business on one corner of town

still burn brightly.

Welcome to Linda's Shear Impressions. It is almost midnight, but

the work day isn't done yet.

Snip. Snip. Snip.

Fourteen, 15-, 16-hour days tire everyone. Everyone, it seems, but

the proprietor of what most likely would be a 24-hour hair salon...if

the owner could clone herself.

And this round-the-clock venture could just as easily be an eight

hour day, if she would simply choose to do so.

Or, more accurately, if she had the ability to say, "No." But she

doesn't.

At least, it seems as if that is the case.

The reality is, the owner-operator is one of those individuals whose

body runs on adrenaline and who wouldn't know what time it was if not

for an appointment book filled with penciled names, some crowded so

tightly the finest-toothed comb could not make its way through them.

Linda is simply one of those people who was created to work. It

shows in every action.

Even when the phone rings and she is graciously finding a place for

another customer in the midst of an over-scheduled day filled with

permanents, colors, cuts and an entire wedding party to be primped

and beautified, she steals a glance or two toward the current

occupant of the styling chair.

She's planning her next series of cuts in mid-conversation.

And yet, there is no rushed feeling. Late at night, every customer

in the shop understands their own busy life keeps them from being

here at an earlier hour.

The gratitude is apparent. It is loyalty measured by the dozens of

miles some drive in order to trust their hair to this person.

On this particular night, a few high school students are preparing

for their prom night by using the tanning bed in the back room.

Highlighted hair, covered in plastic and waiting for the chemicals

to work their magic, sits patiently in one chair.

Hair bound tight in curlers takes shape under a bonnet of warm air

from a noisy dryer.

In the chair, the magic continues as bits of hair tumble on a dark

purple apron.

Soon there will be the vibration of the electric trimmer around the

ears and at the base of the neck.

Then the raspy action of the thinning shears, taking the fight out

of unruly waves in undesirable places.

It's now another day, and it is obvious there is an hour's effort

yet left in the shop.

And after that, there is time to be spent cleaning and preparing for

another schedule full of appointments. It will far into morning

before one day's work is finished.

Snip. Snip. Snip.

The work night isn't done yet.