By Lirot Comma Brian
Everyone seems to be a little shell-shocked after the past winter, but since the Midwest began to boil, my loving locks lack practicality. I didn’t cut my hair while studying Art & Design this year in downtown Chicago, but now that I’m back in the west suburbs, I can’t walk around looking like a fuckin’ hippie…or so my parents say. Oh the irony…
“Have any summer plans yet?” the European barber says under her thick accent. Why does she always think I want to talk to her?
“No not yet, I’ve had a couple interviews since I got home from school, but I haven’t heard anything back yet.” I reply while a couple hair follicles fall into my mouth.
“What about a family trip?”
“Um, well we don’t have anything planned yet but that’s not out of the question.”
The barber squints her blue eyes. “What do you mean ‘out of the question’?”
My train of thought derails at the unorthodox question. “What? Oh, like it’s still a possibility.”
“Okay.” She flips her scissors into a drawer and unholsters the blow dryer from its cradle atop the desk. The barber blows the excess brown hair off my neck before swiping the nylon apron off me.
“Same as last time, Ollie?” I ask hopefully.
“I haven’t done that since last time but it’s not out of the question.” Ollie grins. “Let me see what you have first.”
“All right, should I go get it or do you want to come out to my car with me?”
“I’ll come to your car.”
“All right.” I swing the front door open and hold it for Ollie to step her petite little self out into the burning summer sun’s line of sight. She climbs into the passenger seat of my minivan while I pull the ounce of Sour Diesel (my favorite strand of weed) out from the center console. I claw out a nugget the size of an elephant’s toe from the bag and show it to her.
“Heiliger bimbam…” Ollie whispers under her breath. “Yes, let’s do the same as last time.” We share a laugh as I religiously weigh out a gram, flip it into a bag, and hand it to her. She slips the bag of ganja into her pocket and steps out of the van.
“Thanks Ollie, feel free to give me a ring if you want more.” I holler out the window while she walks away.
“Okay, goodbye Michael,” she says with a smile and a wave. As I pull out of the parking lot, my phone begins to vibrate from inside the cup holder.
“Hello?” I say curiously. (The number was unknown to my phone’s database.)
A bubbly lady responds from the other end of the call. “Hi, is this Michael Susan?”
“Yes this is.”
“Hi Michael, this is Florence from the park district.”
“Hi Florence, how are you?” I respond with my fakest tone of voice.
“I’m doing well, thank you. I was just calling to officially offer you the job as a camp counselor this summer.”
“That’s so great,” I lie. “Thank you so much!”
“No problem, I just need you to come in tomorrow to fill out some paperwork before we start next week. When do you think you could come in?”
I really don’t want to have to wake up early. “Is one cool?” I ask with hope in my heart.
“Um, how about we shoot for ten? I have a meeting after lunch and don’t know if I’d be around.”
“That’s totally cool,” I say with gilded excitement. “Ten it is!”
“Sounds great, Michael. I’ll see you then.”
“Thanks Florence.” I hang up the phone and toss it into the passenger seat.
I sit up and examine my new haircut in the rearview mirror before giggling to myself nervously. And so begins the tale of the pot dealing camp counselor…this could go terribly…
To be continued…