BEAUTY SHOP TALK

by

Vicki Charmaine Bunch

My great-aunt Betty, a member of the Communist party in the 30's, enjoyed being "different." If you were a Methodist, she was a Shaker. If you grew begonias, she cultivated deadly nightshade. People said I (as our family's only member of the SDS) took after her. Who would guess one day my sister Kathy, the straight arrow, would fall victim to the millennial hysteria gripping the nation?

We spent Easter with Kathy in her earthberm near the Arizona-Utah border. She and Floyd and the six kids were getting ready for the big meltdown. Besides the dehydrated carrots, the 12 volt car battery, and the hundred hour candles, Kathy had stockpiled surgical sutures, a bung wrench, and a specially-designed feminine hygiene appliance unlike any you have probably ever imagined.

It's ironic. Back in the 70's, when Sonny and I announced we were going to Santa Fe to live in a yurt, Kathy was the one who reminded us of flies and fleas and how difficult it is to use the restroom outside. And when we moved into that commune near Little Rock, you should have heard ruckus she raised. A cheerleader for The Establishment, she was the girl Joe Friday. Anita Bryant was her favorite singer.

I always felt kind of sorry for Kathy. She never went skinny dipping. Never tried pot. Never grooved under black lights to the beat of a far out band. Now here she is--a veteran of PTA bake sales and the Young Republicans--grubbing around in the Arizona desert, hallucinating on moldy rye bread, her only friends--guys in chat rooms with names like Jebadiah.

"Kathy, you missed out on the back to Eden scene," I said, as we checked our combat boots for rattlesnakes. "I'm surprised you want to live without air conditioning at your age."

"So I'm a late bloomer," she said. "Besides, on January 1, 2000, your air conditioning unit is going to quit working, along with every other electrical appliance, including your hair dryer."

"We don't usually run the AC in the winter," I said.

"Imagine how you'll feel," she went on, "Standing in a long line at K-Mart to pay for emergency provisions, and when you get up to the register they won't accept your credit card."

"That happens to me all the time," I said. "It's really embarrassing."

"The money in your bank account will be inaccessible and computers will let all the prisoners out of jail. National defense systems will fail. And 911 won't work."

"That sounds pretty awful," I said. "But don't you think you're over-reacting?"

"Hah! According to the Millennium Bug official website, computers have already ordered tons of corned beef to be destroyed because they thought it was over 100 years old."

"I would hate to eat 100 year old corned beef," I said. "Is that why you have this semi-automatic handgun? And this CB radio and chain saw and this hemorrhoid ointment?"

"Yes--along with this spring wound clock and insecticide. Plus gold and silver coins, toenail clippers, and several hundred rounds of ammo," said Kathy. "We'll be ready when the famine and riots and pestilence start."

"It seemed like a lot more fun in the 70's," I said. "Maybe cause I was stoned."