Photo by Emmanuel Kontokalos
Hairstylist Plays Serious Hooky
In the late 1980s, a friend, Pat, and I were still attached enough to our college-town hairstylist in Columbia SC that we’d drive an hour and a half from our new city, Charlotte NC, to get our hair cut. The stylist’s name was Blake.
One day I decided to take up another college friend’s offer to visit him in New York City, where I’d never been. So I flew to New York for a weekend and saw the usual sights. One night we were hanging out in Greenwich Village, browsing stores. In a trinket shop, I heard my name, looked up, and beheld Blake, who’d apparently traveled to New York on a whim.
The situation got more interesting when I returned home to find my friend Pat fuming. Before I could tell her about my trip, Pat ranted that she’d driven all the way to Columbia for an appointment with Blake, who’d called in sick without notice.
I was in a unique position to rat him out.
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