Funk Interrupted

by Jan Yuill

In retrospect, I was feeling grumpy. As I drove along Knoxdale Road to work, I was reviewing the long list of broken, undone, and mismatched things in my life. In short, I was not being appreciatively inquisitive about the day that was unfolding before me. I was defying the laws of attraction.

I stopped at the red light and waited … and waited some more. Getting impatient, I inched forward to the cross walk. The vehicle beside me inched forward too. Strange. I looked over to see a middle-aged man in a red van with a young girl in the passenger seat. Nothing unusual for 8:25 am. They weren’t looking at me. It hadn’t been an invitation to a drag race.

The light turned green. We both turned in the double lanes onto Woodroffe Avenue, and I resumed my funk. Another red light. I stopped and waited. The horn of the vehicle beside me tooted, and I looked over. It was the van, the man, and the girl … again. He motioned expectantly toward me as the passenger side window of his van went down. He must need directions. I opened my window, as I shifted my thinking to the logical fact-finding problem-solving mode.

“I love your haircut,” he said loudly, leaning over the girl in the seat beside him. “Where do you have it done?”

Click, click, click, went my brain. Huh?

Quick, succinct responses have never been my forte, but I managed to say, “Bayshore. Kenny!”

With a smile and a nod, he saluted, closed the window, and drove off through the green light.

Was he a hair stylist? Was he asking for his wife? I’ll never know.

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