The Musical Stylings Of Marie
February 11th, 2009 by ComputerBob
Way back in high school, I let my hair grow long — down to the middle of my back. But then, shortly before my wife and I got married, I let her cut it down to a couple of inches long for me.
Several years later, I let my hair grow out long again — that time, down past my butt.
As a computer consultant to a multinational corporation, I felt like it was a real achievement in rebellion to be one of only two men in that whole button-down place of several thousand employees to have long hair. The other man was a Native American.
During the 4 years that I worked there, I was able to negotiate my hourly rate 40% higher than my starting rate. I always felt like that was partly due to psychology — I think when people see a guy with a ponytail down past his butt, working in a place where everyone else looks extremely conservative, they think to themselves, “Wow! — He must really know what he’s doing!”
I had that ponytail for about ten years, including the whole time that I taught college courses.
Then, in late 2003, a month or so before my wife and I moved from the Frostbite State to the Sunshine State, I had it cut off and sent to Locks For Love. Almost everyone assumed that I did it because I was moving to a warm climate. The real reason was that I had just spent several months getting our house ready to sell, and I had grown tired of my hair getting in the way every time I painted things or found myself crawling around, working on one thing or another.
For the past 5 years, I’ve worn my hair off my collar and just long enough to very lightly part in the middle and gently feather back on the sides.
Last week, I went to my favorite hair salon to get my every-5-month haircut. Unfortunately, my favorite stylist wasn’t there, so, being in a hurry, I agreed to let a different stylist cut my hair.
Marie is a friendly woman, probably in her late 60s, with a thick Slavic accent.
She’s apparently a very happy person.
And she also apparently considers herself to be a great musical performer.
As a nearby radio blared “easy listening” music from the past, she began to hum along — with low rumbles of tone-deaf precision that had more in common with an overworked refrigerator than with anything that was coming from the radio.
To make her performance more interesting, whenever inspiration struck her, she would suddenly burst into song.
But, like her humming, her singing was anything but musical, and had little-to-no relationship to whatever was playing on the radio.
For example, in the middle of Air Supply’s “I’m All Out Of Love,” during one of the song’s verses, she suddenly started repeatedly singing — or, more accurately, shouting — the first line of the song’s chorus.
“I’m ull outa luff!” (pause) “I’m ull outa luff!” (longer pause) “I’m ull outa luff!”
Less than two feet from my left ear.
It gets even better.
A few minutes later, her humming and singing voices apparently temporarily exhausted, she began to whistle — loudly, out of tune, and with a surprisingly pronounced trill.
For her grand finale, she ignored the radio all together, and started singing, humming, and whistling several ditties in her native tongue that sounded like they might have been romantic Slavic songs if they had been performed by just about anyone else.
At my favorite salon, they do a good job cutting my hair for a fair price, so in the future, I’m going to keep getting my haircuts there.
By anyone but Marie.
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