One had one's hair cut this afternoon. Not in itself an unusual thing. In fact, if you're looking for unusual, you'd better look elsewhere today. For today is all about usual.
For instance: My appointment was at 3:00pm but the earliest I can leave work is also 3:00pm. Luckily, the barbershop is just around the corner from work - about two minutes brisk walk. As usual, whenever I want or need to leave work at a specific time, something always comes up at the last moment. Today was no different. At 2:45pm I received a visitor from the telephone section (callcentre) with a query that I just knew would involve a time consuming question & answer session followed by a lengthy investigation, liaison with two other sections, at least one follow up call to the customer, and finally, arranging a 'resolution'. At best, it would all be over with by 4:00pm. Not ideal. I considered sending a software demon (Hell is quite technologically advanced these days, you know) down the phone line to 'create a diversion', but the summoning & download time precluded that, so I ended up sending the visitor away with a list of questions to ask the customer, hoping that by the time the answers were obtained, I'd be long gone. Which I was!
As usual, I'd received a gift today on the side of my forehead. Its placement could not have been more perfect, for with every stroke of the comb while my hair was being cut, the edge of the comb gouged into it. I squirmed in the chair, hoping that it wouldn't bleed or pop, covering all and sundry, becoming The Incident that would prevent me from ever showing my face in there again. Assuming I'd have any face left, that is. However, aside from becoming red and angered, it simmered gently allowing me to return another day.
Just as my barber was finishing off, his next client walked in. The ex of my best friend. Bugger. Now, this may not seem usual but I've been seeing him around a lot lately. In the car park next to work. In his car as I'm crossing the road. Walking down the street as I walk the other way. I could feel my autopolite kick in as I watched him in the mirror passing behind me to the sofa and magazines. Just as 'Hi' was about to leave my lips, I managed to switch the damned thing off and say nothing. Afterall, he didn't acknowledge me, even though he must have seen me. As I got up to pay, he studied a newspaper industriously, not looking up for a second. Good. I was saved the wrath of my friend when she found out that I'd dared to speak to him.
As I was walking home, I noticed an odd shaped young man crossing the road in front of me. I studied him from behind as I followed him towards the station. He was short - five foot six at the most - with large, weird angled arms and shoulders almost as broad as he was tall. Then he turned slightly and I saw the reason why: He obviously lives in a gym. His muscles were absolutely enormous! He was like a mini-Hulk! His arms looked weird from behind because they obviously weren't long enough for his massive biceps and triceps. As he turned a bit more, I caught sight of his face. Awwwwwwwwwwwww... He was soooo cute! And young. 23 tops. As usual I fancied someone inappropriate: Too short, too young and a gym weirdo. Probably straight, too, as the gaydar didn't even flicker. How can this be? I like the older, taller, normally fit men. Don't I?
Then, once at home and a quick poke about revealed nothing in the least appetising, I made a quick trip to Sainsbury's as usual to find something nice for dinner. And, as usual, I found pizza and wine. And now I sit here blogging as usual*, waiting for the pizza to cook and the wine to chill.
- sniff sniff -
I think the pizza's done...
* OK. So my blogging has become a bit sporadic of late so this isn't entirely usual.