Job

Have I mentioned that I have a new job? In late July I pretty much hit a wall in my job. The busy restaurant management company drove me over the edge and, as I felt my mid-life crisis was starting early, it was time for me to run away. I had the luxury to stepping away being finically secure enough to take time to explore. This led be to talking most of August off. Sleeping in late, long workouts at the gym, hiking up in the mountains every day, the whole gainfully unemployed game. It was strange; having all this free time to just relax and rethink my career choices. I have been a Human Resources Manager most of my adult career, or for what seems like an eternity. During my down time, mostly hiking about Boulder, Colorado, I thought about my next career, what I really wanted. And, even with the bad taste left in my mouth of the last HR job, in mid-August I was recruited for another Human Resources gig. Yet the feel of the role was completely different. 

During the initial phone interview I really bonded to what would be my future boss. It was also just the change I needed, a corporate position with short and long term care facilities. Teams of educated doctors and nurses in the role of caring for people in need. A far universe away from attempting to maintain dignity around Bartenders and ego-driven Chefs. Goodbye high end dining, hello medical field. 

So far it’s like being on vacation every day. The work is very hard, don’t get me wrong, but I went from Bar Managers dropping bags of cocaine in the kitchen, to verifying medical degrees. It’s early days, but I feel like I have a purpose again. So, maybe the mid-life crisis can be averted for a couple more years. 

Train

I always thought living in proximity to a train track sounded romantic. I once had a house out in the country. At night, when the wind was just right, I could hear the far away call on the train whistle. Its lonesome call in the middle of the night evoked a call to iindividualisticwandering on a Jack Kerouac scale of fiction. No matter how stressful my life was, I could sit in my bed late at night and escape to a dream like world as the drifting call of a train whistle mixed with the late-night breeze. Blowing the sheers. Calming my busy brain. 

When the roommate and I were looking for new place to rent, I was excited to see an opening in a building within walking distance to a train stop. Just two blocks down, and we could be on a train platform that would whisk us to either Denver’s city center, or Denver’s Airport. I was also secretly excited that my train, the one from my late night visits would be back. 

The first night in the new place I drifted off to sleep with the window open. 

HHHHOOOOONNNNKKKK!!!!!!!!!!!!

I startled awake! The frickin’ train sounded as if it were running through the driveway. Why would moving next to the stupid train tracks be a smart move? All night a train horn blared every fifteen minutes. All night every night. Since this Jack Kerouac nightmare started in June, I have now become accustom to the late night train whistle. I drift off to my dream like world as train cars full of passengers make their way to and from the airport.  Horns ablazing.

My Part

One of my earlier memories was getting my haircut. It was in a strip mall in our small hometown.  My Father took my older brother and me to get a buzzcut. I remember the stacks of coloring books and having my very first comic book adventure. Gazing at nineteen seventies Superman taking flight upon the page. This was when my love for comic books was born. I remember the feel of sitting in the huge barber chair; a booster seat to bring me up to the barber’s level. The barber seemed younger than my Dad, but still ancient. In my tiny brain. The image of my Dad wondering out the door, stating he’d be back to pick is up.  I had a scared feeling, wanting to jump from the chair as the buzzing steel clippers came close to my ear. Being comforted by the barber that he wouldn’t hurt me. Softly whispering in my ear that I was safe. His hand moving under the cape to find its way into my jeans. Feeling warm and special because the barber clipping away on my brother in the next chair was not being even acknowledged. I exchanged warm smiles with the barber-man as he cut my hair. One handed. 

This is when it happened, I believe. He cut a side part into my hair. On the left side of my head. I have worn a part on the left side ever since that day. Mostly, this is because I have a massive amount of callicks (or cowlicks) on the back of my head. My hair resembles the back end of a guinea pig most days. Always using a massive amount to product to keep my swirling and unruly hair in its place. 

I recently had to find a new barber, as Nick the Super Barber moved to new town to start a Bed and Breakfast.  I gave in and went to the hipster barbershop that my roommate uses. It is SUPER hipstery. I have a happy connection with getting my hair cut. Obviously, from my past of Superman and having my dick awakened for the first time.  I went in for my first appointment half-hoping there would be comic books. There was not. I met the barber and began to explain my swirl and callicks on the back of my head. He stopped. “It’s because you have your hair parted on the wrong side.” He explained. “Your swirl and callick goes from right to left, opposite of how you’re laying your hair.” He combed my hair over from right to left and all my stand uppity hair laid flat….. Holy hell.  That guy…. When I was just a kid… gave me thirty years of bad hair days??? Guess you are never too old to move your part from the left. I’m all right now.