Sign of the times

Yesterday, when I wandered over to my favorite coffee shop for brunch to go, I saw a sign in the window of a local salon. Through the window I could see price tags on the salon chairs, mirrors and display cases. The doors were locked tight, of course, but there was a number displayed to make an appointment to see the salon fixtures.

I felt a pang. I don't get my hair cut there, but I've gone to them in the past for pedicures and massages. They've been in this neighborhood since the mid-1980s.

Neither their website nor their Facebook page say they're going out of business, so maybe they're using this time of enforced closure to remodel. They were going to have a rough go of it this month, anyway, since the main drag is torn up; the long-planned sewer upgrade is going on as planned and, under normal circumstances, would have played havoc with foot traffic and parking.

I hope they reopen. I know how hard this pandemic is for mom-and-pop businesses like this one.

And once again, I feel fortunate that I will have a check direct deposited on the 30th.