Dingleberry Gazette

Bless you, technology! Thanks to the radio and cell phones, I managed not to have a nervous breakdown tonight.

My buddy Clairissa is a wild child. When she’s not busy conquering the hair world, she’s running around socializing, partying, a fun-lovin’ gal. One of her hobbies is fire-dancing. She and her friends have danced at off-the-beaten-path places, including the roof of her salon. While I haven’t seen her do this in person, I have seen the pictures. It looks pretty cool. Er, hot.

Having lunch in the bosses office with Whitney, we shared small talk while he did paperwork and I ate fruit. He indulged me by putting KUFO on the radio. After a song, the traffic report came on. Blah blah Sunset Highway, blah blah blah Rose Quarter blah blah traffic diverted on the Banfield due to a structure fire on NE 33rd and Broadway.

What?? That’s where Clairissa’s shop is.

Snapping to attention, I whipped out the cell phone and dialed her personal number. After a few rings I got her voice mail. “If you want a haircut, call the shop. If you want me, just say so.” BEEP.

“Um, I just heard on the radio that where you are is on fire right now. Do an old man a favor, call me and let me know you’re all right?”

I clicked off, waited a couple of minutes, then called the shop. Just as it was about to start to ring, my phone started ringing. It was Clairissa.

“My phone is acting fucking weird. Are you trying to call me?”

“Um, yeah! It’s all over the radio that your area is on fire. Are you okay?”

She laughed. “Man, my phone has rung about two hundred times in the last half-hour. It’s the oil company across the street. I’ve got killer pictures…”

“But you’re okay?”

“Oh yeah! I’m having a ball. I’ve got this girl with hair down to her ass, and we were cutting it out on the sidewalk when all the shit came down. We went and watched for a while, and now I’m finishing her hair.”

“Thank god,” I said. “I had visions of you drunk on the roof, fire-dancing and accidentally torching the place. I mean, the salon is called Hot Box. Now that I know you’re okay, I will get back to work.”

I hung up on her, relieved. I looked over at Whitney, who was giving me the eye. “What? I like her, okay?”

He shook his head. “I’m jealous. Can I see your phone?”

I handed it to him. He held it up, and glanced over at me. “You bastard.”

“Whu-?”

“How come you get phone reception in here? You’re getting two bars in the basement of a parking garage. Not even Master P’s phone rings in here!”

Thank you, Sprint. I’m going to have a difficult time convincing the boss I “didn’t get the call” next time they try to get me to work on an off-day…