Can't Wait to Get to Heaven

Beauty Shop

8:45 AM

After things settled down a little, Norma was able to get back to normal again, and on Wednesday morning she was back in the chair at Tot’s Tell It Like It Is beauty shop having her hair rolled up, and listening to Tot say the same old things she had been saying over and over again for the last twenty years.

“I tell you, Norma, I’m so sick of all these whiners saying how society made them into criminals. My hind foot. Being poor is no excuse to rob people. Hell, I was poor, I pulled myself up by the bootstraps; you know what I came from, Norma, just plain trash and you didn’t see me run out and rob people…and there’s no shame anymore. People will just come right out and tell how they cheat on their taxes, and are proud of it! And when they film all those people on television looting, they just smile and wave at the camera. And if they do get caught, they get a free lawyer, and hot and cold social workers telling them they are victims of society, boo-hoo, and aren’t responsible for their behavior. And don’t tell me there are no jobs out there. Anybody can work if they want to. Dwayne Junior thinks he’s too good to get a job. He sits at home on welfare and his disability, while his sister and me work our fingers to the bone. Even his sorry, no-good daddy worked. Granted, it was only between drunks, but at least he made an effort.” Tot took a drag off of her nonfiltered Pall Mall. “Poor James, as much as he aggravated me to death, I hated that he ended up like that. The last time Darlene and I heard from him he was living in some old flophouse hotel. A couple of months later he died in the lobby watching reruns of game shows. Died watching The Price Is Right. He had a bad beginning and a bad end. He was no Prince Charles but he was human, I guess, and he was not a whiner. I’m so sick and tired of all the whining and bellyaching about stuff that happened in the past, and God help you if you happen to be a white person, you can’t say a thing without somebody jumping down your throat calling you a racist. Everybody’s so damn sensitive anymore, you have to tiptoe around everything. Those Political Correctors are lurking in every corner just waiting to pounce…. Next they’ll be making us sing, ‘I’m dreaming of a multicolored Christmas.’ I tell you, I’m scared to open my mouth anymore and voice an honest opinion.”

“Oh, if that were only true,” thought Norma as Tot continued her weekly tirade.

“Like that time that black girl came in here looking for a job. Norma, you know I don’t need anybody, I can barely afford to pay Darlene as it is, and I told her so, in a nice way too, but the next thing I know, she’s calling me not only a racist but a homophobe! How was I supposed to know she was a he? I remember when this whole stupid thing started, everybody that had a black jockey boy statue had to paint them white, do you remember?”

Norma nodded. She did remember. Her mother had refused to paint her jockey boy and someone had knocked its head off.

Tot continued, “It’s not my fault I’m not a minority. And how about my rights? I don’t see anybody standing up for me. I pay my taxes and I don’t expect anybody to take care of me, but do I complain?”

“Every week,” thought Norma, but she said nothing.

“Anyhow, all you hear on TV is how bad white people are. Frankly, Norma, I don’t know whether I’m a racist or not anymore. I hope not, but I don’t know why I even bother to worry. They say we are all going to be speaking Spanish in the next five years anyway. It used to be just black and white, but now it seems like the whole world’s gone some sort of brown color. Speaking of that, have you seen the bathtub Madonna the Lopez family has in their front yard?”

“No. What’s a bathtub Madonna?”

Tot laughed. “Well, they took an old claw-foot tub, turned it sideways, and buried it halfway in the ground. Then they painted the inside of the tub blue and stuck a statue of the Blessed Mother in it.”

Norma cringed. “Oh my God, and it’s in the front yard?”

“Yeah,” said Tot, taking another drag off her cigarette. “But it’s kinda pretty, really. You know those Mexicans are artistic, you have to say that for them. He keeps that yard as neat as a pin.”

That afternoon Norma thought that Tot might be right. Things were changing right there in southern Missouri. Where it used to be mostly Swedes and Germans, more and more nationalities were moving in, and when Norma had walked up to Aunt Elner’s porch that morning, the radio had been blaring Mexican music out into the yard. Aunt Elner had tuned in to some new Spanish station from Poplar Springs.

“Why are you listening to that?”

“What?”

“That Spanish station?”

“Is that what it is? I wondered, I thought maybe it was Polish.”

“No, honey, it’s Spanish.”

“Well, whatever it is, I like it. I don’t understand what they are saying but the music is real cheerful and happy, don’t you think?”