Hello again, to those of you who remember me from a long time ago. And pleased to meet you, for those of you who have no idea who I am. In case you have forgotten or never knew, my name is Kenny. But people call me Skinny Kenny. When last I left you, my neglected curls were hardening up and becoming dreads. Since that time my hair has continued to grow day and night. And I have continued to let it do what it will without much intervention from my part. I've grown to love my dreads. They are the best accident to ever happen to me.
In particular, I like how my dreads alter people's mood and interaction with me. Sometimes when I am going about my daily life, I feel like I am in some kind of secret club. Let me give you an example. Earlier today I was waiting in line at the post office, here in Brooklyn. As I stood in line, I watched the lady working behind the counter give some of the worst customer service I had ever seen to anyone who dared approach her. She would cut people off and send them away like they were small children, if they weren't 100% prepared. As the line slowly moved forward and I got closer to the service window, I started to think hard about what all I needed to send my box. But I didn't have time to dwell too much on such thoughts, because as soon as I started to wonder if I was ready, my time had come. I walked up to her and her anger melted away. She gave me a warm greeting smile, and said, "what do you need today little locks?". I should mention that she had very long grey locks tightly coiled up into a bun. She had probably been growing her's since before I was even born! I told her I had to ship a box to South Korea, and I handed her my box. She paused and then said I had the wrong shipping label and my box was too big. I cringed and prepared for a tongue lashing. But she said, 'it's okay here is the correct label, come back with this label and a smaller box and you come directly to my window and skip the line!' THANK YOU DREADS!
Now it is totally possible that my hair had nothing to do with this 180 in attitude. Maybe she was a racist... But I'm about 90% sure it was because of my flowing locks. And that is just one instance I have had so many similar situations in New York. People with dreads treat me as if I'm a long lost relative when they see me. It's a great feeling, one I'm proud to experience so often.
Surely I'm not the only one getting such positive treatment from other dread heads??