An odd conversation at the hairdresser
This is a previously published piece, but it does seem somehow to resonate with what I read on Facebook…
There was only one person waiting, one person reading the ancient hairstyle magazines and flipping through picture books of aerial photographs of the U.S. — me.
I was early, quite early but with no other place to go and a previous meeting that was much shorter than I had anticipated, I arrived at my hairstylist’s salon a half hour before I was expected.
“Too bad I hadn’t brought my book,” I thought as I scanned the bizarre styles paired with equally bizarre makeup in the magazines.
We had exchanged pleasantries.
“You’re early!”
“Couldn’t wait to get here.”
“Would you like a cup of coffee while you wait?”
I had interrupted the flow which is integral to the success of the hair stylist-client relationship.
Picking up on the news that we share and the topics of the day, much like a revered and respected bar tender and patron of old, the salon (note the similarity to the word saloon) is a place for reconnecting — and venting. This time the vent was, shudder, about both politics and religion.
Someone before I had arrived had commented on Barach Obama’s middle name, Hussein.
I do believe that whoever had brought this fact into the conversation intimated that the name was a clue to the fact that he was, in truth, a closet Muslim, whatever that means.
Was he or wasn’t he a Muslim?
There were vague references to closets and who hides in them Talk about mixing metaphors and prejudices.
Opinions were flying about his adherence to a Christian church in Chicago …
“You know, the one where the minister said something about the U.S. deserving 911,” one person said.
This could not get worse, I thought to myself.
Maybe if I went outside and then came back in, it would make sense.
Beyond trashing a religious group, there was a tad bit of problem with these accusations.
If Senator Obama were a member of that Chicago congregation, which he claims to be, for which he has proof of a 20 year membership, how could he be an adherent to some other faith?
Just being a member of that congregation after his pastor’s diatribe was problem enough, but I was using reason, sitting as I was outside the discussion, others, not so much.
Another gal added her opinion about the situation, telling all who could hear that Senator Clinton, known in this group as “Hillary,” would certainly know if Senator Obama were a Muslim and would have brought this out in the debates.
“Well, you never know. I wonder about her so called radical religious beliefs,” said the woman who had just returned from the shampoo area.
Our doubter was informed that Mrs. Clinton has been a life long Methodist, not a denomination generally known to be on the cutting edge of radical movements. She countered with a rapier, “So she says.”
I was totally amazed at this conversation.
And it got even weirder as one loony idea generated another.
“So she says,” the shampooed woman countered.“She could be a Muslim too.”
One of the stylists, and stylists have to be rather diplomatic, so their comments are always quite measured, took a deep breath and asked how anyone could come to the conclusion that Senator Clinton was a Muslim.
She noted that Mrs. Clinton didn’t attend a mosque or wear the traditional clothing.
But, our insider added, “She always wears boxy pants suits that look awful that could be a proxies for those burka things that Muslim women wear.”
It was getting nuts and catty…good grief.
This convoluted reasoning, reasoning that I could only attribute to fumes from permanent wave solution continued.
“Mrs. Clinton stayed with Bill after his messing around with all those other women,” was another comment.
The train of thought here was interrupted by someone I couldn’t see, pointing out that as a good Christian who took her marriage vows seriously, Hillary Clinton vowed to love, honor and obey for better of for worse. Standing by her man is more than a song title, you know.”
“You didn’t let me finish”, the previous voice said. “Hillary puts up with Bill’s infidelities because Muslims can have more than one wife.”
You could hear the smugness in that voice, sharing what she thought was a bit of genius analysis.
I was about to enter into what my grandmother told me to stay out of, when another voice added, “They could both be muskrats.”
Silence filled the room. A question: “Muskrats?”
“You know those people who use cover personalities and jobs and wait for their leaders to tell them to go into action; you know … named after that little animal that burrows underground.”
There were giggles and one of the stylists said, “I think you mean moles”.
Then someone changed the subject by showing her pictures from a recent trip to Palm Beach and I returned to my hairstyling magazines which now seemed not so bizarre.
