Yesterday afternoon as I'm pulling money from an ATM in Forest Hill a large balding fortysomething man in Boss says, "How much for your hair? $1500... Is that enough?" And he peels off 15 $100 bills.
I blink. A man wants to buy my hair. For $1,500. It's the middle of the day. And neither of us is The Walrus.
"So, are you saying you want to buy my hair for $1,500?"
"Every single strand."
I glance out the window just to see if there's a camera crew nearby. There's a tall, lean, beautiful woman, wearing shorts and a skimpy tee, leaning against a Rolls Shadow, picking from a small black plastic tray. I wonder if she knows the Boss man. Is that his Rolls? Is the hair for her?
"Does that include the scalp?" I say.
"No. No. No. No. No. Ha. Very funny. You are funny. No." He spoke with the ease of experience. I'm not the first one he's offered money for hair. And when he laughed his body shook like a mound of jello.
"Just checking," I knew his offer didn't include the scalp. A guy who buys scalps doesn't shake like jello when he laughs. Unless he's trained by MI-5. But then why would MI-5 train agents to buy scalps from strangers? Wouldn't they just take them? This is how I ruled him out as an agent for MI-5. Also, he was way overweight. Jason Bourne would never let himself go like this. Even if her were dumped on Facebook.
*************
So for those of you who haven't seen me, or a picture of me, or a likeness of a picture of me, I have a head of full long curly brown hair that I wear in a style I like to call curly long. I've had it ever since I was born. And I've grown accustomed to it being there. On my head. Still...fifteen hundred dollars.
**************
"Not for sale," I said
"Two thousand?" He peeled off another five one hundred dollar bills.
"What do you want with my hair?"
"This I cannot tell you. Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha. So whaddya say?" he says.
I looked out the window at the woman leaning against the Shadow as if she'll lift up her t-shirt and reveal another t-shirt with the answer. She didn't do that. She picked up something from the tray and put it in her mouth.
"Okay, two thousand, five hundred," he says and peels off more bills.
The man is offering me two thousand five hundred dollars for my hair and I'm thinking about it. Why? I don't know. Maybe because I don't want to think I'm selling to, like a Charles Taylor. And what if he uses my hair to buy weapons and those weapons are used to kill innocent men, women and children. And what if he gets caught and put on trial in the UN War Crimes Tribunal in the Hague and the prosecution calls me as a witness and I have to admit that like an idiot I didn't ask the man who bought my hair if my hair would be involved in arms transactions where innocent men, women and children will be killed. My mother calling me up in the Hague. Couldn't live with myself.
"Sorry, can't do it."
"Three thousand."
Shook my head.
"Ha. Ha. Ha. For your troubles." He put a hundred dollar bill in my shirt pocket and turned to leave.
"Hey." I motioned outside. "Is she with you?"
"Yes. My assistant. A night with her was my next offer." He hesitated, raised his eyebrows.
I looked again. At her. Her. Her. The entire evening played out in my mind and when it ended I pressed replay-European version. It's only hair! Public ignominy at the Hague! I shook my head.
"Ha. Ha. Ha. Good day to you."
When he's at the door I ask, "What's her name?"
"Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha. You are a man. You are." He wipes his forehead and leaves.
I finger the hundred in my pocket.
THE STARBUCKS 25TH ANNIVERSARY
Today, until 11 a.m. Starbucks in Canada was offering a cup of coffee
for 25 cents in celebration of their 25 years in Canada.
I ordered 2 cups.
One in celebration, the other in memory of all the other cups that went down at Starbucks over the past 25 years.
Lest I don't regret.
I ordered 2 cups.
One in celebration, the other in memory of all the other cups that went down at Starbucks over the past 25 years.
Lest I don't regret.
POLK CANADA GIFT TO THE QUEEN
Polk, my accountant, calls and tells me Prime Minister Stephen Harper met with the Queen yesterday and presented her with a gift from Canada on the occasion of her 60th Jubilee. The gift Canada gave the Queen? A painting. Portrait. A painting portrait. Of her. The Queen. Canada gave the Queen a portrait of the Queen as a gift because no doubt she hasn't got one of those.
Polk wanted to know how the decision to give the Queen a portrait of the Queen came about. I told him it probably went something like this:
Governor-General on the phone with the Royal Secretary in Buckingham Palace: Okay, so here's what Canada's thinking...
RS: Not a hockey stick.
GG, Really? C'mon. Really?
RS: Really.
GG: It's signed by Tie Domi.
RS: I will hang up now. Please wait for Cedric to come on the line and give you the Royal Click.
Cedric: Click. I say.
GG calls Prime Minister Stephen Harper.
GG: Hockey stick's a no-go.
SH: It's signed by Tie Domi.
GG: I've got it! A human hair from every Canadian sewn together in the form of a Canadian flag.
SH: Remind me of why I appointed you Governor-General.
GG: In the event of an alien attack I was the only one to agree to have my head and arms surgically reconstructed to resemble that of a mole so that I can transport you and your family to safety far underground.
SH: I never asked you to do that.
GG: Of course not.
Long pause.
GG: Justin Beiber's saliva in a bottle shaped like the Canadian flag?
Long pause.
GG: A glow-in-the-dark toque so when she gets up in the middle of the night it'll be easier to find the bathroom?
Long pause.
SH: Every year on our anniversary I get Laureen a portrait of me. Same pose. Same suit. Different tie. She always says, "Another portrait? Just what I need." Girls like portraits. Lets get her a portrait.
GG: That's an excellent idea. Of you?
SH: Make it the Queen. It'll be more of a surprise.
GG: Might I say, the Canadian people just don't understand the gift they've been given with you as their Prime Minister.
SH: I despise the Canadian people. Yet I love them. Can something so wrong be so right? I can answer that question but I prefer not to at this time.
Polk didn't believe a word. A glow-in-the-dark toque wouldn't emit enough light to illuminate the Queen's path to the bathroom. He tried it. He then reminded me of my outstanding invoice and hung up.
I made a coffee.
Polk wanted to know how the decision to give the Queen a portrait of the Queen came about. I told him it probably went something like this:
Governor-General on the phone with the Royal Secretary in Buckingham Palace: Okay, so here's what Canada's thinking...
RS: Not a hockey stick.
GG, Really? C'mon. Really?
RS: Really.
GG: It's signed by Tie Domi.
RS: I will hang up now. Please wait for Cedric to come on the line and give you the Royal Click.
Cedric: Click. I say.
***************
GG calls Prime Minister Stephen Harper.
GG: Hockey stick's a no-go.
SH: It's signed by Tie Domi.
GG: I've got it! A human hair from every Canadian sewn together in the form of a Canadian flag.
SH: Remind me of why I appointed you Governor-General.
GG: In the event of an alien attack I was the only one to agree to have my head and arms surgically reconstructed to resemble that of a mole so that I can transport you and your family to safety far underground.
SH: I never asked you to do that.
GG: Of course not.
Long pause.
GG: Justin Beiber's saliva in a bottle shaped like the Canadian flag?
Long pause.
GG: A glow-in-the-dark toque so when she gets up in the middle of the night it'll be easier to find the bathroom?
Long pause.
SH: Every year on our anniversary I get Laureen a portrait of me. Same pose. Same suit. Different tie. She always says, "Another portrait? Just what I need." Girls like portraits. Lets get her a portrait.
GG: That's an excellent idea. Of you?
SH: Make it the Queen. It'll be more of a surprise.
GG: Might I say, the Canadian people just don't understand the gift they've been given with you as their Prime Minister.
SH: I despise the Canadian people. Yet I love them. Can something so wrong be so right? I can answer that question but I prefer not to at this time.
*************
Polk didn't believe a word. A glow-in-the-dark toque wouldn't emit enough light to illuminate the Queen's path to the bathroom. He tried it. He then reminded me of my outstanding invoice and hung up.
I made a coffee.
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