seat, he put the hairpiece and cap into the car's tiny glove compartment and drove off bare-headed.
He went back to the department store and parked. He retrieved the hairpiece from the glove compartment. Ducking as low as he could in the car's cockpit, he positioned the hair on his head and tamped it down. Then he straightened up and adjusted it using the car's small, dash mounted rearview mirror. He then gave it a final tamping.
Inside the store, Matthew purchased a parka. He put it on, loosened the hood and placed it over his head. He eased the car onto the street. His hair stayed in place, but when Matthew began to perspire profusely he realized that this was not a practical solution to the problem.
He tried several other ideas that day and the next but nothing worked. Having found no solution to the flying-hairpiece problem, Matthew dreaded the arrival of Monday. He felt that his romance with Glenda was, not only going to end, but do so ignominiously.
"Did you get your new car over the weekend?" Glenda asked Monday when she saw Matthew.
"Well y-yes, I guess so," he responded.
"You sound a little dubious," she observed. "Don't you know?"
"Well, I did get a nice black Ford roadster, but I didn't drive it much."
"Oh, that's too bad. Why was that? Do you have it with you?"
"Well, y-yes, I guess so."
"You're sounding awfully unsure of yourself, Professor. I'd love to see the car – over lunch and have a ride in it!"
"Are you sure you want to, Glenda. It's a convertible, and it's windy today."
"I love convertibles. The wind won't bother me. Is it a date? My treat!"
At noontime, Glenda and Matthew walked to the school's parking lot. When she caught sight of the shiny black vehicle, she squealed with delight. She ran to it and waited patiently for Matthew to catch up.
"Oh, it's such a beautiful car, and it's such a lovely day," Glenda gushed. "Here, let me help you put the top down!"
"Isn't it a bit chilly for you? Don't you think it might rain?" "Nonsense! It's warm. There isn't a cloud in the sky. And the wind isn't bad. Besides, what's a sports car for unless the top is down?"
The top came down and was stowed neatly in the compartment behind the front seats. Then, Matthew opened the passenger's door and helped Glenda enter.
"The way to get into a sports car is this, he proclaimed. You sit in the seat, then swing your legs in."
"I know how to do it," she replied impatiently. "I'm a sports car fan, remember?"
Matthew got behind the wheel, started the engine, and drove off. "Let's get on to Madison Avenue," Glenda urged. "The traffic is lighter there and we can go faster."
"You know, you're not supposed to drive a new car very fast for the first few thousand miles."
"Professor Grimms, this car has over 40,000 miles on it. It was broken in a long, long time ago."
"Yes, but, the police…"
"The speed limit on that road is forty-five. Hurry! I can hardly wait till I feel the wind blowing through my hair. Do you like wind blowing through your hair, Professor?"
"Oh, yes, yes of course I do. Wait a minute." Matthew's stopped the car, exited and opened the trunk. He pulled out his parka and put it on. the hood covering his head.
"Professor Grimms, what are you doing? It's so warm out. You can't get the sports car feel when you're all bundled up that way!"
"I guess you're right, Glenda." Matthew put the coat back into the luggage compartment and reentered the vehicle. He reached into the glove compartment, pulled out the plaid hat and positioned it carefully on his head.
"That's a beautiful cap, Professor," commented Glenda. "The black in it matches the car color perfectly."
Keeping the speed of the car below thirty-five, Matthew made his way to Madison Avenue. There, he began to increase the speed gradually. He placed his hand on top of his cap, pressing it downward.
Glenda laughed. "You look so funny, professor Grams. Are you afraid you're going to lose your cap?"
"Well, it's expensive." Matthew protested. "Does it bother you if I hold onto it?"
"No, not at all." She smiled "When we get back, if you let me have it, I'll see if I can make the headband a little more snug so that you won't have to hold it all the time."
"That's a great idea. Why didn't I think of that?"
"Downshift into second, Professor, I want to hear the sound of the engine as it revs up."
"Downshift into second?"
"Sure," she grinned. "You know, with the shift lever."
"But, I would have to use my right hand. I'm holding onto the cap with that hand. Wait a minute, maybe I can hold it with my left hand, then let go of the steering wheel for a second, then do the shift."
This complex set of actions required Matthew to remove his hand from his head for a second. That's all it took. The hat flew away and took the hairpiece with it. From the rearview mirror, Matthew could see both items landing on the road some hundred feet to the rear.
He slammed on the brakes. Glenda gaped at him in amazement. After he had brought the car to a standstill, Matthew mumbled, "Wait here," and exited from the car. With hands deep in his pockets, he sundered to where the cap and hairpiece were lying.
He was gone about five minutes. When he returned to the car, Glenda was staring at him enraptured.
"Oh Professor Grimms," she observed. "You're not a kid! I thought you were like those young juveniles they have at the college posing as intellectuals. You look so distinguished! Why do you wear that silly thing? The way you look, I find you look very handsome!"
"Y-you like me this way?" Matthew stammered incredulously.
"Oh yes, I do! Would you do me a favor? Wear that thing in class if you want to, but when you're with me, would you keep it off your head? I like you so much better without it." She laughed. "Then, too, when you're driving the car, you won't have to worry about losing your hair any more."
"It's not important to you that I don't have hair on my head?"
"Oh, Professor, it's not what's on a man's head that's important,” she responded. "It's
what's inside that counts!"
Chinese Fortune Cookies
"This is a little embarrassing, Mr. Collier, but here goes." Robert paused, then tapped his mouth with a cloth napkin, and took a sip of water. "I'm very fond of Wanda Fisher, but she doesn't seem to take more than a passing interest in me. I think she likes me, but I have no way of knowing how much. I'm too shy to say something. You're wise, and you probably understand my dilemma. I don't know what to do."
Robert Drake had needed advice. He had been captivated by the charming Wanda Fisher who worked in the data processing department. Whenever he'd walk by the large picture window of the computer room, he'd see her pressing keys on the computer's console or mounting tapes on the tape drives. He'd stop for a moment to admire her auburn hair, which fell to her shoulders, and stare at the fluid motions of her lithe figure as she glided from one piece of equipment to another. She would notice him, stop what she was doing, and glance in his direction. She'd sweep aside her hair, causing her long earrings to swing to and fro. And she'd smile. Robert would feel himself flush. He'd break eye contact and return to his office.
As a specialist in documentation, Robert had his own office on the fifth floor. His days were spent at his personal computer writing the instructions that employees needed in learning how to use their own computers. Robert was a tall, slim, serious-looking young man in his early twenties. He was conservative in demeanor and grooming, his thin rectangular face, clean-shaven. His dark brown hair was piled high on his head with no particular part, the sides cut short. His usual attire was a dark blue or gray suit with a tie of complementary hue. While working, the only departure from conservatism that he allowed himself on the job was the removal of his jacket and loosening his vest.
Today, Robert decided, was the day that he was finally going to do something about getting to know Wanda better. A 4:45, a little earlier than his usual quitting time, Robert
stood and fastened the six buttons of his vest. He picked up his brown leather briefcase and left the office. Six doors down the brightly lit hallway, he entered the office of Harry Collier, Supervisor of the Shipping Department.
"May I see you for a moment, Mr. Collier?"
"Certainly, Bob." Mr. Collier's face broke into a quick easy grin. "What can I do for you?"
Harry Collier, husky, of average height, was in his early sixties. His hair, which swirled below his earlobes to form bushy sideburns, and his small mustache, which partially covered his upper lip, were of the same color, white with a few strands of black giving an overall impression of slate gray. He wore glasses with thin silver rims. There was a small hearing device in his left ear. He wore a beige bow tie, flecked with brown spots over a white shirt.
Harry had already put on his blue jacket and was adjusting a matching felt fedora into place.
"Mr. Collier, you always speak so fondly of your wife. I know my you must love her very much. I'm in need of some advice and you're the only one in this company, that I can think of, as being able to help me. If you would just as soon not…"
"Nonsense, Bob, nonsense! I'd be happy to help if I can. I'm flattered that you would ask me. Why don't you come over for dinner? We can talk then. Don't worry about Matilda. She likes unexpected guests and always prepares plenty. I live only a few minutes from here. Why don't we walk?"
Robert accepted. Mr. Collier put on a gray topcoat and the two men began strolling down Main Street, Robert matching his pace with the more leisurely
Eighteen Stories With A Touch Of Humor Page 7