The goal was practical time efficiency. I ordered my day in my mind. I made my bed right after I got dressed. I did some work at my desk while I ate breakfast. I made plans for meals so that I could swim midday in my pool. I supervised my remaining student and had my own Chinese lesson early. Then, I made a spur of the moment decision that it was a good time to fit in errands to the bank and to drop off mail.
It was not my first trip to the bank with bare feet, so I wasn’t concerned about that, exactly. I did wonder if they would raise eyebrows since there was still frost in the shade. I pushed my sunglasses up onto my hair and went in. When I went to give them identification, I realized I had left my driver’s license in my hip bag from running the day before. However, since all I needed to do was make a cash deposit, it wasn’t really a problem. Then, I walked back to the car.
At the car, I saw my reflection in the window and memories flooded back about deciding not waste time doing my hair this morning, because I wasn’t going anywhere before my swim… My naturally curly hair that had been double bleached to the point where the curl is mostly gone (to let the gray grow in gracefully), but somehow the hair still sticks straight out from my head. The same hair that at a length of about 5 inches takes on unique artistic form while I sleep. I usually get it wet every morning to tame it some. Without that step, there is no point in even combing it. Now, it stuck up from behind the sunglasses erratically like I was a punk rocker. A 52 year old punk rocker with wrinkles around the eyes. I couldn’t decide if it looked like I had stuck my finger in a light socket, with all the current traveling through the upper left quadrant, or if I just looked like an eccentric crazy.
Possibly, the teller had made an imperceptible split second decision not to do anything to disturb the looney. While she helped me, I saw nary a flicker of her eyes to indicate disapproval. No one in the bank had come to follow me around and “see what I needed.” Of course, I have no idea what was going on in the room with the security cameras. Maybe something like, “It’s okay, Joe. She usually comes in barefoot. But her hair does usually look more normal.” That is if they recognized me. But only the teller knew I didn’t have ID, and she apparently did not push that secret button under the counter to call for help. All I know for sure is that US Bank gets some extra high marks for keeping their cool and treating me with the same respect as a “normal” customer. And anyone can come in to deposit money in my account.
When I got home, my 17 year old daughter assured me that I simply looked very fashionable. If I’d only known earlier. I have been wasting all this time doing my hair.