Very philosophical, this post. Sam and I at the kitchen table at 8:00 -- after his shift, and in the middle of mine. I've been up and working for a couple of hours, but am always eager for a break. (Talking to your teenaged kid is a great break.) We were discussing the haircut he needed to apply for the summer job at the yacht club. Sam was having second thoughts about his looming appointment at the ... haircutting place.
Sidebar -- what to call the place where a modern guy gets a hair cut? Hair Dresser is still pretty much a woman's term. Barber Shop sounds too 1955 -- a place where you get a brush cut and your dad places a bet. Salon sounds too Christopher Street (not that there's anything wrong with that, as Seinfeld says). But a lot of guys are going to feel uncomfortable putting down their beer, wiping their mouth, and telling their pals they are off to the Salon. Hmmm. (Seriously, now -- is there a word and I'm just drawing a blank here? I guess I don't get my hair cut often enough.)
Anyway, Sam was having second thoughts about going to the place where guys go to get their hair cut. And he was tired after his night at the gas bar. Which may explain his mind bending towards the Jansenist school.
If I don't get my hair cut, I've lost the job, he said. If I cut my hair, and get the job, I've lost my hair. This was starting to sound familiar. But Dad, what if I get my hair cut for the interview, and they still don't give me the job? Then I've lost everything.
He sounded quite anguished. I wondered what Pascal's dad (that's Pascal in the picture, by the way. Our local yacht club wouldn't give him a job with that hair.) Probably what I did.
Have some more Froot Loops, and go to bed.
Next time: Sam gets the job -- or does he? Startling revelations!!!! And I get tough with my editor.