BEAUTY SHOP TALK

by

Vicki Charmaine Bunch

They're looking for a new editor at the Axel Rattler. Tiny Brown, after a brief stint, was hired away to edit "a hip new rag that's fresh and exciting." Tiny was controversial. Many thought she contaminated our hometown paper with edgy stories about things like pet rocks and wife swapping.

I'm thinking about applying for the job. There's free iced tea and a four figure income. You get to wear a big cardboard crown and all the latest fashions. Plus, there's the opportunity to hit underlings with a spiral notebook like Kay Bailey used to do.

The only problem is coming up with stories day after day in a town where a dead fish is front page news. It's easy to see how Tiny got herself in trouble. Who wants to read about baby beauty pageants or some guy who's driving an '76 Chevy across the United States? Who cares about the crickets down at city hall?

Of course, you could write about the way Mayor Stubby Bean got his wife Lurlene to quit dating the tennis pro at Cottonmouth Country Club. Hot wired the bedroom window and when Kenny climbed out he got jolted with 1200 volts and fell in the rose bushes. Lurlene had to go on Prozac. But there wasn't a word about it in the paper.

You could cover the head lice infestation in the choir at Goat Head Baptist, the sleeping D.A., or how the 10th graders never got any textbooks last year. A fabulous story would be how my husband Sonny has never once in his whole entire life put a roll of toilet paper on the dispenser.

Nary a word. The Axel Rattler is silent on these issues.

I called the Rattler's ombudsman, Happy Pipkin, and asked why.

"The Rattler's motto is 'keep on the sunny side,'" said Pipkin. "Do we really want to know some goober is planning to poison people with a cactus thorn dipped in rabies germs and stuck in a butane lighter? Why stir up trouble?"

"I guess you're right," I said. "That would only work on somebody like Sonny who's always bumming a light. Come to think of it, he has been looking pretty green around the gills--and I thought it was just the cheap cigars. Gee, maybe I should call a doctor."

"See what I mean?" said Pipkin. "John Q. Public needs to hear the good news. For example, the school bus driver who wears her make-up to bed so the kiddies will get to class on time. The cheerleader who pretends to get a brain concussion so an unpopular male foreign exchange student can take her place. The chihuahua that rescues his master by barking just as he's about to be abducted by space aliens."

"You're right," I said. "I'm guilty of not being an optimist. There are just so many terrible things going on--"

"Sure, this old world's in a pretty sad state," said Pipkin. "But we can make it better by trying to be like the busy bee who always looks on the bright side and works his tail off."

I've been really busy. I went downtown Monday and applied for the job as editor. I took along my poem "The Pretty Flowers" and the speech I wrote when I ran for Miss Grass Burr. Very up-beat. Baby blue blazer. Cotton Candy nail polish. Happy face earrings. The works. If they don't hire me, they're crazy--and that's being optimistic.

How silly that the national media are in trouble for inaccuracy. I'm sure they were just exaggerating. All those little white lies. They probably figure, how else do you satisfy a salivating public? A public that says it wants truth but expects to be enthralled, diverted, and tranquilized?

That's easy. I'll give Rattler readers what they're after. Blood, sex, and a mouse named Cheesy who's been adopted by a mama raccoon. And it will all be true.