I don’t remember her name. In fact, I didn’t even meet her until much
later in life. She had been married and
had one daughter. The only reason I knew
this is because they were working at the same place when I met them.
It had been an ugly, nasty divorce;
both sides saying things, harsh, mean-spirited things. Possessions and friends were divided, keepsakes damaged
and feelings hurt. Whatever love there was had been
completely lost in the flurry of accusations.
The
lawyers, I’m sure, were the only survivors of this painful event. It had left her with a very bitter feeling
towards men. I don’t believe I would be
too far off saying that she actually hated all men.
You could hear her feelings surface in
general conversations no matter who she was talking with. Somehow her agitation level had never tapered
off. This was simply who
she was now; a very hurt and angry lady, who at this late stage in life had to
rejoin the workforce to keep things going.
Unfortunately I did not know any of this. My encounter happened on
a Saturday. I was in need of a haircut
and her little sign was lit up:
Walk-ins
Welcome
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