One ring. Two rings. Then someone picked up.
”Hi,” I said. Even I could hear the hesitation in that single syllable. “I’m not sure how we do this now. It’s been a long time.”
The voice on the phone was soothing. “Tell me what you need, and I’ll see what I can do to help.”
”Well, it’s been more than a year,” I said, “so it’ll be my first time since …”
After listening to a run-through of the process, I was given an appointment time forty minutes into the future. Best to get it taken care of sooner rather than later.
When I arrived, a couple of other clients were there, both reading questions and filling in the blanks on forms trapped by dollar-store clipboards. The young woman behind the counter passed me my own clipboard and a pen. “Let’s get started with this.”
I did as instructed, answered a few more questions verbally, had my temperature taken, and then followed her through the reception area and into the back room.
”You can put your coat there,” she said, gesturing to a chair. “You said you wanted shampoo, right?”
My first haircut in over a year. Seven inches lopped off, in easily the oddest salon experience of my life.
This is my last day being 50. I wonder if 51 will be just as strange.
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