If I didn't know better, I would think that I have the words "Talk to me" tattooed on my forehead. That's to say, I have a magical ability to attract complete strangers who want to tell me their innermost thoughts. There have been many times that I've thought I should have been a psychologist so that I would at least get paid for listening.
The most noteworthy random encounter happened several years ago in the greeting card aisle at Walmart. I was walking through the aisle on the way to another part of the store when a clearly upset woman turned to me and said, "Could you help me for just a second?"
Of course I stopped and said, "Yes." That's the human thing to do.
Ten minutes later, the woman was absolutely sobbing as I tried to help her pick out the most appropriate card for her to place in her just deceased husband's casket. I knew the details of what had happened and all sorts things about how wonderful of a man he had been.
I felt awful for the woman, but it was such an awkward thing. I hope she walked away thinking I had been kind because I truly tried, but MAN. THE AWKWARD.
The most recent random encounter happened this past weekend. It was the sort of "random" that I should have expected, though. I can't find a steady hairdresser because I can't find a hairdresser that will pick up on my blatant nonverbal and verbal cues and just shoooooosh.
I am a parent. I consider that time when I get my hair highlighted and cut to be a really special treat. It's an opportunity for quiet time. Let's all be quiet!
Or not.
Since I haven't found a hairdresser who will let me enjoy silence, I end up at the mall with whatever random person happens to be working. Alexis was with me, but that is not why I didn't get my silence. That girl LOVES getting her hair done, so she sits like a perfect little statue while she also gets her hair cut and styled. I don't hear a peep from her for about an hour whenever I take her with me.
This time was no exception. There were no Alexis peeps.
There were hairdresser peeps, though. OH MAN WERE THERE EVER.
"Is that your only child?" the lady with the long blonde hair asked as she slathered dye on my head.
"Yes," I answered curtly. This is a question that I've grown accustomed to, so I know what follows.
"Are you going to have more kids?" she asked. I should create a drinking game around this conversation because ... yeah. It happens a lot.
"Nope," I answered even more curtly. Some people pick up on the curt thing and back away slowly from the conversation. Not this girl, though.
"Oh, why not?" she asked.
The correct answer would have been, "It's none of your business." I feel the undying need to be overly nice to nosey people, though, so I answered in my typical trying to change the subject sort of way. "It just didn't work out that way," I said.
"Oh, did you have problems?" she continued.
WHY IS THERE NO PAUSE BUTTON ON LIFE FOR MOMENTS LIKE THIS? Given a second, I would have figured out that it was time to tell her that there was something shiny behind her and just run away. Feeling rather on the spot, I instead blurted something completely unnecessary about how sometimes things just don't work out. Which, now that I'm thinking about it, was pretty much a "Hi. This conversation you're forcing me to have is really not one that I want to have with a total stranger who has quick access to sharp scissors. MOVE ON." She didn't take it that way, though.
Instead, she took it as an invitation to tell me about all of the miscarriages she has had, and how one of her ex-boyfriends broke up with her the day after she had a miscarriage and isn't he awful and now she has a six-month old and she is wonderful but the hairdresser never sees her because she has to work and she missed the first time she laughed and isn't that awful but her boyfriend saw it and isn't he lucky and women shouldn't have to work out of the home because they should get to be home with their babies and don't I agree and it's terrible to only have one child so she is going to have four so that they have one another to play with and OMG ALL OF THE PERSONAL DETAILS.
She forgot to breathe while she went on-and-on. And on.
I just sat there incredibly uncomfortable, wishing I could go sit over next to Alexis and let her talk my head off instead. Her excessive talking is WAY more fun than that of a stranger.
Not that Alexis was talking anyway. She wasn't. She was fully focused on sitting like a statue because ... well, this:
I may torture the poor child by forcing her to be an only child, but I also let her do really awesomely fun things like put a little bit of color in her hair.
It's just a little bit, but she loves it.
She loves it even though it has faded CRAZY bad in just a couple of days and without being shampooed. In fact, it has faded so much that she probably has earned a free re-do, but I can't make myself face returning to that salon. I mean, what if That Woman is there and makes me listen to the rest of her life story?
I'm not willing to risk it.