Tell me, who cut your hair?

Posted on December 3, 2007
Filed Under Generally Spiritual (few if any geek references) | 2 Comments

So, here I am at the library again. Coming here helps me to “officially” start each job hunting day, and I come here so I can get on task and stay on task and have a fruitful, productive job searching day.

That’s the theory…

Today I chose one of my favorite spots, near the front of the building in the coffee alcove. Mind you, I am not here because of the coffee machine. It’s because the chairs are comfortable and because the Wi-Fi reception is optimal here. It is true that the coffee is less than 6 ft. away, but I’m here because of the Wi-Fi. Really, it’s true.

wow. those quarters are starting to burn a hole in my pocket. And as we all know, we veterans of the library, the Java goddess only accepts quarters….

At any rate, because I am very close to the circulation desk, I have the perfect observation point to see all of the comings and goings here. I imagine my little notch in the hallway as sort of a “duck blind.” I see all sorts of people going to and fro yet most of them barely realize that I am here.

First, there are the faithful retirees who come to read the papers, find a good book and of course to socialize with other retirees. Then there are the moms toting their pre-schoolers who are clearly looking for a reason to get out of the house. Of course, there are the fellow job hunters, like me, pouring over the reference materials and/or using the free Internet services to check job sites and send out resumes.

Over in the conference rooms are the “business owners” or whatever it is they fancy themselves to be. They show up in suits and sit in the conference rooms holding meeting after meeting after meeting all day long. Some of them seem to be making sales pitches, others seem to be interviewing prospective employees. Occasionally, a conference room “squatter” will come to spread out a bunch of documents and talk on the phone all day.

At about 3 PM or so a tutor will probably show up with two three or four elementary aged children and set up a small classroom for an hour or two. And by about 3:30 or 4 the relative density of teenagers per capita will grow exponentially. It is amazing how devoted they are to their homework, coming here every day in order to gather together in study groups. (yeah, right)

Amidst the flowing throng of parents, teens, job hunters and sales reps, one figure plods along virtually unnoticed: the “man with the car.” He is as much a fixture here as the donated sculptures outside. Like the sculptures, most people cruise right past him while on their mission to find that research book, or catch up with their “study group.”

All day, almost every day, the man-with-the-car can be found in the news paper section. In fact, I just saw him earlier this morning, camped out in his favorite spot: in a high wing back chair surrounded by a couple of grocery bags, and a small assortment of books; stocking feet propped up on another chair (but not before putting a small towel on it), a news paper spread out over his lap, drooping eyelids, slumped head gently rising and falling in rhythm to his chest.

At night, however, he sleeps in his mobile apartment. He has a car that is filled to the brim with large garbage bags; they consume the entire back seat all the way to the ceiling. The front passenger seat overflows with grocery bags, books, magazines and loose clothing. The dashboard resembles the tip of “Mount Trashmore.” I can only imagine what’s in the trunk. Clearly, all of this man’s worldly possessions have been stuffed into an rusty old four door economy car.

Questions abound: where did he get that car? Where does he park it at night? How does he stay warm during the cold winters? How does he keep it running? And where does he get the money to put gas in it? For that matter, now does he “fuel” himself? While not exactly obese, he certainly hasn’t missed too many meals, that much is obvious.

But something really got my attention today. When he shuffled into my little “duck blind” to get coffee, I noticed that the back of his neck was freshly shaved, the lines around his ears were clean and neat. It was obvious that his hair had been washed. He must have gotten a hair cut. Now that I think about it, his hair usually looks pretty good, that is for a homeless person. Not great, but usually pretty decent.

Now even more questions abound: where does he go to get his hair cut? What is the hair cutter person like? Does he or she do it for free? Do they give him a meal while he is there, or some clothes or some other act of kindness? Maybe the hair cutter is a friend, or a relative, maybe even one of his adult children. Whoever it is that cuts his hair, they must be a saint. For I have to ask: how can they stand the smell? Honestly, some days the man-with-the-car leaves me wondering when he last had a shower.

But then again, what about the days when he does not have hygienic challenges? More questions, like where does he go for a shower? How does he go about getting his clothes washed? Where did he get his clothes? And what about his glasses, where did he get those?

Today, while he was checking out some books, I couldn’t help but notice that not only his hair looks good, but so do his pants, and his sweater. He seems to be paying for something (where does he get his money?) It’s heart warming to see that the librarian enjoys talking with him. They are both smiling and chatting about this and that while the computer churns out some receipt. She seems to know him rather well. More questions….. Does she know his name? Does she know his story? Has she or the other librarians extended any little acts of kindness or support to him?

For some reason, however, the hair cut has captured my imagination way above all of the other questions. More than any other basic act of taking care of yourself, haircuts seem to be quite personal, or at least more personable. With a shower, any shelter can take you in, then point to the locker rooms and from that point on you are on your own. You can maintain your independence and privacy. Same with filling your car with gas, or getting some clothes, or even getting a meal. But not a haircut.

Haircuts, by their very nature, are a social activity.

You have to talk with the cutter if only long enough to explain what you want. Then you have to sit there, in very close proximity to another human being for a minimum of 15 minutes, of not longer, while they buzz about your head (no pun intended) usually chattering on and trying to be conversational. It seems to me that encounters of that kind would be quite the opposite of what most reclusive people want. And I believe that our man-with-the-car is more on the reclusive side than simply a person who has fallen onto hard times.

You see, the man with a car strikes me as a rather intellectual person (we had a brief conversation once at–you probably guessed it–the coffee machine.). He enjoys reading, seems resourceful in his own way, is not shy but seems to prefer keeping to himself. I have no proof of this, but somehow he doesn’t seem in too big of a hurry to pull himself out of his current lifestyle. I think he rather likes it. Perhaps he is just fiercely independent, like the “Old Girl” Fernando Ortega sang about in his album titled Home.
Have you seen her there
with no shoes
Stubborn as she goes
on and on?
Heaven only knows
where she’s been
or the world she’s in.
She will turn your pity down
turn away and frown
…………..
she may have a prayer for you
She can read you too,
Old girl.

(I love that last line: “she can read you too.” Somehow that levels the playing field a bit.)
“Where is all of this going?” you may ask.

That is a fair question. I really don’t know. I just felt the need to write about some observations that were stirring up something in me. I needed to get them out and see where they lead. (So much for an “on task, very productive” job hunting day….)

Perhaps right now I am still feeling the influence of this weekend’s church service. We focused our attention on people far less fortunate than ourselves. We were challenged to make a real difference in the world and not just crank out our business-as-usual lives.

Perhaps I’m still moved by seeing Esther (the missionary with 3 suitcases) commissioned to go out in faith into destitute areas to love others and support them, not fully sure how she herself will be provided for.

Perhaps I just needed to pull back from my all consuming favorite subject (that would be me), and just take a look around.

I feel that what I really need to do is lift up my eyes, look around, and then do what God puts on my heart to do.

Mr. Man-with-a-Car used to be an interesting contribution to the library’s ambiance, like the sculptures outside of this building. Not anymore. Today he is more of a real human being to me; someone with real feelings, real relationships (how else could he have gotten a hair cut?), real goals and dreams and desires.

I’m not going to force upon him some intersection of our lives, nor look for clever ways to strike up a friendship with him. That would be an insult to his dignity. But you know what? Since I’m a regular, and he’s a regular, I wouldn’t be surprised if I do get to know him. Perhaps if I’m less concerned with me and simply open my eyes to the needs of others, God will lead me to…. whatever.

Ah, ha. Here he comes for more coffee. I knew we were kindred spirits.

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