So being from the South I have always enjoyed the humor of Jeff Foxworthy and Bill Engval.  One of the routines that Bill does is about “stupid people” and how they should wear a sign warning the rest of us.  You know, the ones who ask “You have a flat tire” when they find you sitting on the side of the road in 90 degree heat.  You just want to respond “Uh no, the other three just swole up and I thought I would just sit here and wait for the last one to swell”.  Yeah you know people like this… the movers showing up saying “So your moving” and you say “Nope, just pack up all the junk once a week for the fun of it”.  Heres your sign!

Well I think I could have used one of those signs the other day.  I had been delaying it as long as I could, but it was time, really time, that I got my hair cut.  Anyone who knows me well knows how I hate to do this…almost as much as I hate shopping for jeans or a bathing suit…I hate getting my hair cut.  My hair has always been thin and invariably the hair stylist (and I use that term loosely) cuts it too short.  The finished product leaves me looking like I am ready to audition for Annie (as in Little Orphan, not Woody Allen).  Along with the thin hair I have the natural curls – the ones with a complete mind of their own and that you can never do a thing with.  I try desperately to prevent the inevitable and take at least 10 minutes to explain to the stylist what exactly needs to be done, and it always ends up the same.

I had a very bad experience at one salon a while back, so I decided to try a different one.  I walk in, the receptionist, who has beautiful hair by the way, asks are “Are you here to get a haircut today”.  Ok stop, you think you know where I might go with this, but wait…she is not the one at fault, sure I could say something like “No I just love the smell of hot curling irons in the morning”, but this poor girl is not the one in need of the sign. No it is I who should have worn the sign this fateful day.

You see, the next question she asks me is “ Do you want a particular stylist”.  Now I am a firm believer in the truth of the phrase “never trust a skinny chef” and along the same line “never trust a stylist with bad hair”.  Unfortunately I had a brain lapse and said “No”.  So she calls the stylist over and introduces her –this girl, who looks barely out of high school, has hair that is wild standing straight up, and mixed in the Jet black color is Pink, bright Pink!  So here I am, knowing that I should stop the nightmare right then and there…buttttttttttt, I did not.  I told myself, it will be okay, she is not dyeing my hair, its just a cut, I will take lots of time to be sure she understands…in the meantime my brain is screaming No -No Don’t Go!  Heres your sign!

It did not end well.  Cost me 30$ and I ended up with pixie bangs. Oh and if the air is on high in car the bangs stick straight up—this has led to more than a few strange looks at the drive thru and gas station.  I’ve since learned to look in the mirror before making public contact.  I know, I know, it will grow out.  And really, it’s my own fault, why would I think someone who can’t manage their own hair could deal with my complicated mess!  It should have been a sign—for me—but I woke up with a case of “stupid” that morning I guess. 

Later that evening, overhearing the heated conversation I was having with my mirror -fussing and complaining about my hair – my husband came in to see what was the problem. His response, “Oh honey, you’re beautiful”.  Well I am sure he would say this to me even if I were bald, but then I have to say he is a pretty smart guy after 15 years of marriage!  Honey, you get a different kind of sign!

Now, when I was in college, oh so long ago, the student was often treated as the lowest thing on earth.  Although I had some excellent professors, I was shown my place very quickly.  All it usually took was a visit to the Bursars office or a complication when registering for class.  I knew nothing, got nothing and deserved nothing.  You could say it left me with a somewhat negative view of those in charge.  But, there were a few times when I came across that person that truly wanted to help.  That proverbial “ray of sunshine”  – the person who could get me where I needed to be by a simple signature or phone call.  Someone who actually cares..a doer.

They are rare, but they are out there, these doers, and somehow my faith in humanity is restored when I encounter them.  My daughter is new at this and still a bit naïve I think to expect help from a Chairman’s secretary.  After all, she just needed a signature to approve the class.  Little did she know the web in which she was about to become entangled was woven by “undoers”.  She was exasperated to find that such a simple need could become so complicated.  Yes darling, these undoers are crafty, they put obstacles where you least expect them.

When she called me, angry and very upset, I was not surprised at her dilemma.  We encounter them daily I told her, at the Bank, on the phone, at the Pharmacy, and my most dreaded of “undoers” –those at the DMV.  These undoers are a part of every day grown-up life.  Fortunately, there are two kinds of people in our world, the undoers and doers.  I explained this life lesson to my distraught child over the phone.  I told her, you have to find a way around the undoer, you need to find someone or some way to accomplish your goal despite the roadblock that you have encountered.  Gee sounds like one of those video games my kids play!

Sure, I could have probably made a few phone calls and fixed the problem.  To be totally honest, I really think some re-training on student rapport would be very beneficial for many of these college offices, and I would be happy to explain my thoughts on that subject, but I doubt they would really care.  After all, when you get right down to it, it is the students (or their parents) who are essentially paying the paychecks of the professors and staff, and just like that Dangerfield guy, they deserve a little respect. Yes Helicopter Mom could have flew in to “save the day” — but this time, I chose to let my daughter handle the problem, with a little guidance from Mom of course. I am happy to say she dealt with it, the problem was ultimately resolved and she will be able to register for her class—thanks to a very caring professor. My daughter found a doer!  Faith in humanity is restored once again!

Everyone knows how it works, you fill up the gas tank and get a car wash.   Use to be a “free” carwash, but I guess that was back in the day so to speak. So I pay for my discounted car wash and proceed to enter my code.  Everything is suds and bubbles, just fine, by the way I did take note of the big sign on the exit of the carwash that says “Blow Horn if Door Does Not Open”.  I think wow, I feel sorry for the poor schmuck who has that happen!

Well meet the poor schmuck.  It happened to me!  I was stuck in the car wash.  Ok, when you finish laughing, I will finish my story.  So the wash cycle was complete and the light to pull forward comes on and you guessed it, the door is not opening. Water is spraying for the final rinse and the dryers are on and I can’t pull forward.  In blind faith, I blow the horn.  I wait, almost laughing at myself for this happening to me, but there is no response from the gas attendant.  I blow the horn again, a little longer this time, thinking they must not hear me.  Waiting again.  No response.  Ok, it has been 5 minutes.  I blow the horn even longer and I wait.  My best friend calls, we laugh because I am stuck in the car wash, and I tell her I will call her back.  I am a bit flustered now, I blow the horn once more–loud and long–no response.

So I am weighing my options.  If I get out, I am sure it will be bad.  I just know I will initiate a wash cycle and get soaked, and although that could be a funny sight, at this point, I am not laughing.  If I get out and try and lift the door I could initiate the drying cycle again, and that could be worse than getting soaked.  Beyond that, I am not too keen on leaving my car in there to go for help.  What is a girl to do?  Well this girl is married and so I called my husband (thank goodness I had my cell phone).  When he stopped laughing he searched the computer for the phone number of the gas station.  I am sure he got a good laugh, but he was concerned for me and made me promise to call him as soon as I got out of the car wash.  So I called the station and the attendant came right away and opened the door.  She apologized over and over, by this time it had been 15 minutes I was stuck, and gave me free passes to the car wash for my trouble.  Okay, not sure that I will be using those but I could always give them to somone I don’t like (not really).

After the ordeal, I called my hubby to let him know that I was safe and yes, we had a good laugh.  I asked him what else could I have done?  He suggested that if I had been unable to reach him on the phone that I could have called 911.  Yeah, after giving me a lecture on uneccesary emergency calls, I am sure those guys would have had a good laugh as well.  Only me…