This morning I went for a haircut, and since my usual stylist (Caroline, quick with the clippers and a joke, does magic with my floppy mop of hair), was out, I told the receptionist I'd settle for whoever was available. After a moment I was handed over to "Winnie," whom I recognized as a Witness from a neighboring congregation -- alas, not before she'd roughly dunked my head in the sink. I was pretty sure she recognized me, too.
"So how have you been, Dedalus," she said.
"Um, just fine, and you?" I replied.
"Very good, just returned from the District Convention," she said, smiling sickly.
"Oh, how nice," I murmured, trying to keep my neck straight as she towelled my hair with an enthusiasm that can only be classified as homicidal.
Once seated, I vehemently stressed that I wanted only a little bit trimmed off the back and sides. She crossed her arms, waved the scissors once or twice in the air, and bluntly ask, "Say, are you disfellowshipped?"
I replied, nearly breathlessly, "No, I'm not, nor am I disassociated, nor am I a raving mad lunatic apostate." (Okay, okay, I lied about the last one.) Her expression softened somewhat, which inspired in me some confidence. Thinking I might preserve a shred of personal dignity without leaving the salon completely bald, I added, "Yeah, I just don't attend the meetings anymore."
To my surprise she adopted a sympathetic stance. "Well, this old world of Satan's can drag you down," she said, bending over my head.
I tried to turn the conversation to neutral topics, but she wouldn't let me. "Have you heard that So-and-so is disfellowshipped?" she said, clipping away. Now, "So-and-so" happens to be my sister-in-law, a wonderful woman with a lot of spirit, who was unjustly disfellowshipped. I felt obliged to defend her, even if at risk to myself (and my hair).
"Yeah," I said, "So-and-so went to the elders and confessed her, um, 'sin,' said she was sorry and repentant, and they disfellowshipped her anyway. Isn't that confusing? I thought repentant people didn't get disfellowshipped, that God," -- I couldn't bring myself to say 'Jehover', -- "is merciful."
She paused for a moment, sheared off a lock of hair behind my ears, and staunchly replied, "I never question the elders. Everything they do, they do for a reason." With that she knocked my head forward to trim the nape of my neck, and I prudently decided not to respond. We finished the haircut in silence.
As I was leaving, she said, "Nice catching up with you." The receptionist, who assigned me to Winnie, looked up and smiled at me. "Oh, you two know each other, how sweet! I knew I was doing something right when I put her with you." I glared, nodded hurriedly, dropped a twenty behind the counter, and left -- thankfully, with a not-too-bad cut (nothing compares with Caroline, though).
If I learned one thing from the experience, it's this: next time I get a haircut, I'm going to make an appointment first!
Dedalus