Sometimes when I go to the salon for a blow-dry, Mum comes too. My hairdresser, Mario, does us both—usually one after the other. Mum actually has her own hairdresser, Ros at another salon, who she gets on well with, so I always tell her she’s cheating on Ros with mine. Earlier today we both went in to get our hair done. Below you can inside the salon.
Our first appointment was at three and, being a Saturday afternoon, they were really busy. We had to wait around a bit, but I don’t mind — it’s a really social atmosphere and I’ve come to know everyone well. They seated Mum and me on opposite sides of the salon because of seat availability.
Mario started on my hair first while one of the apprentices shampooed Mum’s. We usually have a good old chat, and he knows about my criminal conviction. I told him how I’d applied for a police certificate for my own records, ticked “working with vulnerable people,” and no disclosable court outcomes came up. I said this has stripped me of whatever sense of self I had — I don’t know if I’m convicted or not. Am I a criminal, or am I not?
He agreed it’s confusing. But when I tell people about this, I don’t think they understand how I got the conviction for using a mobile phone while driving. The conviction isn’t for the act itself; it’s because I contested it instead of appealing — and I basically didn’t show up to court.
Mario has told me a few times he has a conviction for speeding from when he was younger — drag racing in the streets, forty years ago — and that it still shows up. I don’t think it would appear on a police check, though; more likely it’s on an internal record, if at all.
After Mario blow-dried my hair he had to do a perm and then Mum’s hair before he could straighten mine, which was totally fine. I went over to check on Mum and she had a go at me for talking about my conviction. She said I’d told the whole salon about my criminal record and that it sounded like I was proud of it. I told her Mario already knew, and that I’m not proud of it. In fact, I wanted to snap back, because as this keeps dragging on I can feel myself spiralling into a whirlpool of shame.
As the day wound down and clients started to leave, I moved to the chair next to Mum. I showed Mario a pretty bad bruise I’d recently acquired when I fell on the stairs in our living room.
It’s not the only injury I’m carrying at the moment. The other night I was in bed trying to get to sleep. My beautiful old cat, Chloe, was next to me — we sometimes sleep with my hand on her paw. As I was drifting off, out of nowhere she suddenly bit me, hard, took off a chunk of my fingernail, scratched my hand, and took a couple of extra bites before leaping off the bed and bolting into the hallway. There was blood everywhere.
I cleaned it up and then took care of the wounds, especially the fingernail. A little later Chloe came back to the doorway and just stood there looking at the bed, as if she was reflecting on the violence that had just taken place there. She was very loved up after that and I forgave her quickly but it goes to show, at the end of the day she’s an animal and you can’t fully trust them.
Below you can see the scratches on my hand. If you look closely, you can also see how old my hand looks. I’m ageing rapidly.
Back to the salon. While we were all over on one side, Mario took care of his client who was getting a perm — a young man, actually. It reminded me of when I worked at a hairdressing salon in town; one of the stylists used to perm her partner’s hair. I think it looks kind of cool on a guy.
I started telling everyone how I used to work at a salon doing reception and shampooing and how Mum used to get her hair done there. The hairdressers—and even the owner—used to call her the “Jane Fonda of the salon”.
I don’t know what you’d call what Mum had done today — I think it was a set, because she had rollers in. I snuck a photo of her below. She said she’d kill me if I took a photo of her face.
We had a great afternoon at the salon. We waited around a bit and our hair got done in stages, but half the fun is just being there. On the way home I said to Mum they probably think she’s the “Jane Fonda” of their salon, too. She asked what that even means, and I told her: it’s the glamour, the celebrity, the beauty. She just laughed.
I love weekends because that’s when make my volunteer calls. I mostly call the same people every week and I’ve really gotten to know some of them. I remember our individual conversations. At first I thought I’d need notes, but when I dial a particular person I can recall everything we’ve talked about before. I’m sad because one man I considered my favourite is no longer on my list, which makes me think he may have passed. He was significantly older and sometimes he didn’t sound too well.
Alongside the regulars in South Australia, I always have a couple of interstate calls to unknown people. That’s good too, they talk about the weather, and they’re interested in where I’m from.
There’s one man I talk to for longer than the others, and last week, pretty much out of nowhere, he told me to look up 3I/ATLAS. I looked it up — it’s an interstellar comet. This morning I told him I find that kind of thing interesting because I know about the interstellar object ‘Oumuamua' that passed through the solar system in 2017. I also knew there’s a professor at Harvard, Avi Loeb, who argued it may have been artificial in origin but I didn’t mention that.
Then he brought up the topic himself. He said he thought 3I/ATLAS was alien in nature, and he started talking about the origin of the pyramids and a few other classic ancient astronaut ideas. I wanted to engage. I really did, and I could have because he would have been impressed by how interested I am in exactly the same things. But I’m a professional. That would go against the principles of the organisation, and it would be incredibly unprofessional to discuss ancient astronaut theory with one of our clients. So it was a conversation that never happened. And it never will.
Still, it’s nice to know there are other ancient astronaut theorists out there. Probably more than I realise.
As I’ve mentioned, I’ve got an assessment centre at the Red Cross Lifeblood call centre on Wednesday. I’ve been jumping from wanting the job to not wanting the job. It’s full-time, and the alternative is going to Adelaide University as the oldest student in the universe and studying Fine Arts.
If I get the Red Cross job, I won’t be able to study in person. I could do it online, but it’s not the same. So, very simply, it’s one or the other.
I thought working at Red Cross would be good for my sleep and for money. But if you strip everything away, if sleep didn’t matter, if money didn’t matter, and I could do whatever I wanted, I would choose Adelaide University. I want to make things on a pottery wheel, blow glass, paint ridiculous paintings, and write ridiculous letters.
Will it ever pay? I’ve got enough to live on for now. I’ll be okay for the next six months or so. But if I want to travel and explore art ideas overseas, I’ll need money.
I want to be an artist. And the thought of having all that time robbed from me by full-time work has made me realise I don’t want the Red Cross job. I want to devote my time to creating conceptual artwork. So I’ve decided against the job. That’s my final call.
I’ve thought about going to the assessment centre on Wednesday just to see if I could get the job. The conceptual artist in me wanted to test whether I could be hired with a criminal conviction hanging over my head. But that’s really just ego, and I won’t be drawn into it. I’m going to contact them on Monday and withdraw so they can give someone else a shot.
Since I’ve been home I’ve actually applied for two other jobs that looked flexible with shifts. The first is with a tow truck company on the phones. The call centre runs on a 24 hour roster and I expect some of the calls would be pretty intense. Someone who’s just pranged their car, or someone trying to get their car back after it’s been towed. I applied saying I’m going back to uni next year and I’m looking to work in a call centre alongside my studies.
The second is at a place that sells hearing aids, also in their call centre. It’s inbound and outbound calls to people about hearing aids. There’s some warm selling involved and it mentioned incentives and bonuses. It was listed as full-time or part-time.
I applied for both thinking they’d suit what I’m doing, but then I realised I don’t want either of them. Mum told me the tow truck industry doesn’t have a great name and went into the ins and outs of it, which I found incredibly off putting. And with the hearing aid place, I’ve never done sales and I’ve always said I couldn’t. I thought if it was warm sales to existing customers, or people who already need a hearing aid, I could handle it — but I can’t. I don’t want to receive a “bonus” for selling something to someone. If it were purely a service, there’d be no bonus; you’d just be doing a good thing. Where there’s a bonus, there’s profit and I don’t like it. I understand businesses have to run at a profit, but I don’t want to be part of that machine.
I doubt either of them will call me, but if they do I’ll let them know I’m no longer looking.
