Two random happenings

Two random happenings on a quiet bank holiday weekend.

Random happening 1:

I walked in, Saturday morning into the hair saloon at the end of the road. The only POA on my agenda for the next 72 hours was this haircut thing.

“Hello. You awrite mate’, the long haired, hair band clad ‘my regular’ barber asked.

“I am awrite. And you?”

“Yeah. Getting along mate”. I noticed that the other bloke with a Mohican cut who I once heard explaining how the world would be a better and light hearted place if all great men went Mohican was not around. ‘George Bush’, he said and cracked up. “And how about Prince Charles”. More laughter. Anyways, he had called in sick or something and Mr. Headband was the only man on duty.

“So what can I do for you mate?”, he asked folded arms.

“Last time you let the number 3 run through”, I said sounding technical. “How about making that a 2 this time. You think I can spike it with a 2”.

“Yeah”, he pondered. “So short and fluffy on the front eh?”

“Yeah”, I agreed, having exhausted all my hair styling jargon.

Sometime in between when the number 2 was lawn mowing though my hair, a police car whizzed past with blaring sirens and all.

Mr. Headband scoffs. “Escort the bastards have got. You reckon they gonna win that chase. Back where I come from they have a BMW or Mercedes for cops like that. Here they got a fuckin Escort”.

“So where are you from mate”, I asked side angled and agreeing totally. “Back at my place, they still chase the crooks on foot”, I did not tell him.

“Sicily”, he says.

“Sicily?”, I blurt excitedly.

“Yeah, Sicily”. I don’t know why but I am excited. My hair dresser is from Sicily. That by the way was random happening one. His last name I hear is Corleone. Really. I swear.

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Random happening 2:

I was walking back home this afternoon, sun simmering down like it had scores to settle and I see white sleeveless top, blue jeans, Prada glasses wearing hot blonde lady coming from the opposite side. I look up casually and she smiles. Ok, some good looking ladies do smile arbidly. I smile back.
‘Holla’, she says. Wait a minute. Not too many good looking ladies greet strangers on the road arbidly.

‘Something something Espaniol?’, she asks.

‘Sorry no. English’, I stutter.

“Oh!” she grimaces. Something more in Spanish. I deciphered from her actions as ‘ I thought you were Spanish”. Lady smiles and walks off.

“Oh!” I grimace. Why the fuck am I not Spanish?

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Random question: What if I was Spanish?

Random answer to above question: I could have shown her the way to Sainsbury.