The boardroom is full today because the company’s former Chairman, Mr. Ralph Finley, is in attendance to make a special endowment to the R&D group, among others. Twenty people sit around the rectangular conference table, all waiting for Mr. Finley, who is having a coughing fit. In between blowing his nose, he mutters to them, “Allergies, I forgot to take something for them today.” The people murmur their understanding. Suddenly, Mr. Finley sneezes so hard, his dentures fly out of his mouth and clatter on the table. For a moment, no one seems to breathe; the only sound is the clacking of teeth.
A Series of Ludicrously Bad Hair Days, Day 4; see Day 3
[Poetic short story]
Her real name is Theresa and she hides what’s left of her hair under a turban. She sizes the group around her, trying to still her nerves. Maddie nods her head as a cue. She introduces herself, “Hello, my name is Shorned Locks. My desire to be festive got the better of me. It started three weeks ago and came to a head yesterday . . . which is why I’m here today.” She clears her throat for all to hear her sad monologue:
“On St. Patrick’s Day I dyed the ends of my hair green to be in the spirit of things. Alas, I botched it as the shade didn’t have the right sheen. Thus, I went to get my hair cut, which looked like a thatched hut. I had asked for layers to replace my blunt look. Instead, I resembled a beast from a wild nature book.
A Series of Ludicrously Bad Hair Days, Day 2; see Day 1
[Poetry crashing into a short story]
“My toupee has blown away!” False Hairy screams.
“Everyone, please don’t move.” Maddie turns off the ceiling fan and apologizes, “I’m sorry, False Hairy, for forgetting some of us have hair that may go astray while the fan moves like a schizo UFO.”
Stacey glides her fingers through Joe’s hair, as she walks by his work area. He playfully bats her fingers away but he likes the tingling he feels in his spine from her light touch.