I went to my usual spot to get my hair cut tonight, and my hairdresser was as kind and bubbly as always. She works weekends but has Mondays and Thursdays off, and has a four-year-old daughter she supports with her husband. Her commute to Astor Place is long from outer Queens and involves a bus and a train. She probably doesn’t get paid much (haircuts at this spot only cost $25, which is a steal in New York City), so she depends on tips quite a bit; she can only afford to go back home to Sicily about every two years, which is sad because she sounds like she loves her family. It always make me frustrated to know how many people’s livelihoods depend on tips in this country. It just doesn’t make logical sense to me why they just cannot have a living wage to live regular, non-lavish lives.

She asks a lot about me, but I always feel guilty telling her things I am up to. I don’t feel comfortable telling her that I just came back from Spain; I especially don’t feel comfortable telling her that I’m leaving for Melbourne this Saturday. She knows I’ve been going there every year for Christmas since she started cutting my hair a few years ago, and she is always saying how jealous she is. Most of the time when people say they are jealous, it doesn’t mean anything to me. But when she says it, I always feel a nagging sense of guilt. I get to do and experience all these things she probably only dreams of. She works really hard, and she’s clearly very good at what she does. Am I really more deserving of all these things than she is? Probably not.

She also got an over 40% tip from me tonight.