Around the time she unwrapped the razor blade, I realized all my fears were well-founded and perhaps twenty minutes was not that long of a wait. (,) after all it was a sunny day and I really only pretend that I have a schedule so I can feel like I do something with my time other than wander around and appear out of place. So the glint of steel caught my eye as she removed the paper; I had been wondering why she had put lotion on my neck (I thought perhaps she thought I had a skin problem or I smelled, which I did).

Upon entering the door, I noticed that in the window were tennis shoes, cleats, jeans, a few dresses, beauty products and a t.v. playing the cruz azul game (“la machina” as they are affectionately referred to, are a favorite down here as there are really no pro futbol teams in the state). But in the corner were two chairs, some mirrors and in the “waiting area,” which really only consisted of three chairs against the wall near some more clothes, I noticed an old woman dozing from the warmth of the afternoon, or from the overall paucity of clientele in the store, take your pick. At no time did she ever get up, speak or show signs of life other than abruptly snoring once quite loudly and readjusting in her upright bed of a chair.

As usual I had a pre-game chat with my friend so I could test out the phrases I wanted to use. I am fairly consistent with this practice because it offers me an opportunity to make mistakes with people I know who will correct my mistakes, not stare blankly at me as though I had been talking to someone else. It is odd how I am willing to make myself look like a dolt in front of my friends but then not in front of other people who it is quite likely I will never see again in my life or who if I do see them again will have little to no impact on me.

When I sat down I became extremely nervous. This would be my first experience in a foreign country and so I had the jitters one feels when one is unfamiliar with what might happen. More importantly, there is that feeling of a complete lack of control because should something go wrong, I would be relatively helpless to alter the outcome. She could do all sorts of bad things to me that would make the next month or more absolutely horrible. Or she could improve upon something that had grown unbecoming about three weeks prior.

I sucked it up and sat down. The initial exchange went normal: I made my intentions clear and failed to understand the reaction. Keep in mind this is how I go through life down here. I make statements that sum up what I want. I know people are going to tell me something or offer suggestions or attempt to change my mind, but as I rarely understand their accents, I usually smile and wait for them to begin doing what I asked or I find some way to repeat what I said differently. In books each conversant responds clearly and often using similar vocabulary. In life this never happens. Learning colloquial phrases is like talking to a dog. The dog understands your intonations at times, but the words have no real significance. I can understand the words in the sense that I know their basic definitions, but once these words have been spliced together in phrases so foreign it might as well be mandarin, I am left hoping dumbly that the person will repeat her last sentence or say it another way.

Once she began I initially wanted to jump in and offer my ideas. I quickly realized that whatever broken attempt I made at explaining would only hinder the operation and possibly precipitate the aforementioned nightmare of having to explain to people what in the world had happened to me and had this been something I actually paid someone to do to me.

Five minutes in I was disappointed. Things could not be going worse. I was ready to say something to put a stop to all of this, but something told me to wait. Really it was someone, my friend, who had been watching my reaction and finding great amusement in something that must have been me. Thus I began thinking how awful the woman must feel. She would surely have seen the same expressions I had made and think me a buffoon or just an asshole. I get the asshole thing a lot but still it is not one I look for and I try not to bring upon myself.

So we have come to the beginning, when the razor blade catches the well-after-noon light filtering through what could be a window or a dusty mug of beer; yes, it was that amber in there. I have often wondered what people do with razor blades, other than remove those inspection and state and county stickers from car windshields, install them in an archaic shaving system, and, of course, spill their own, or, and I am praying it is not this one, someone else’s, blood. There were no windshields around; I saw no shaving device of an sort, but there was plenty of blood coursing, quite rapidly at this point, through my veins.

Seeing a reflection of yourself takes away a degree of reality. Maybe this is why men are able to place an object so incredibly sharp against their skin, and drag it over their jugular. Each day. Sane beings would observe this practice as slightly idiotic; you mean you know you might cut yourself yet you do it anyway?

Thus I observed myself observing a woman wield a ridiculously sharp object and bring it down toward my neck.

But then it was the back of my neck, not the front, and she had already had the opportunity to poke my eyes out with her scissors and she had not done that either, so I conferred a bit of trust upon this shop-keeper/shoe saleswoman/clothes pusher/stylist. Clearly she could hold down a few jobs all at once, so I guess I should have given her more credit from the beginning.

I must admit looking back that my first inclination was correct. Stores that serve five different functions may not be the best at any individual service they perform. I have options in the future and I will certainly exercise this right to choose. Do something and do it well. Or do five things and be decent at them. I might choose the former. I mean really, you don’t see me selling vacuums, waiting tables, working construction or driving a tractor do you? No, but you did. Perhaps that is why I sold no vacuums in two weeks, made 2.15 per hour waiting tables, got fired by my own father’s construction company, and caused copious damage to multiple pieces of farm equipment. “Maybe [I] should try taking some of [my] own advice” (when you can reference The State, I say do it).