40-foot ceilings

rudi has been cutting my hair for nine years. I sit myself down in the black vinyl chair and she works her magic while we talktalktalk. she speaks freely about her life and the usual salon drama in a choppy staccato I find hard to resist. awhile back, we were discussing her big move into an old high school that had been converted into loft spaces. I was delighted to hear that many of the original fixtures of the school had been put to creative use. some of the living spaces had the wall-sized original chalkboards and red metal lockers. rudi, however, had taken up residence in the space that used to be the gymnasium. she excitedly told me about how her floors still had the painted lines from the basketball court and because it had once been an old gym, it had a wonderfully open and spacious feeling to it. her words fluttered around me and I felt my envy and fascination grow to epic proportions. I was already attempting to decorate the space in my mind. I wondered what that might be like, transforming part of an old high school gymnasium into a personable, livable space. so I asked her about it and she abruptly stopped her snipping and looked at me.

"hello, hi. FORTY-FOOT CEILINGS."

she continued on with her sharp little scissors and started in on a different topic.

and I've always thought, yes. yes, that kind of sums up certain life situations. as in, hey lady on the street, you really think you can pull off those bright orange hot pants? hello, hi. FORTY-FOOT CEILINGS. as in, you really think you can fit your car into that parking space, homie? hello, hi. FORTY-FOOT CEILINGS. as in, you think we can keep this house in a less-than-disastrous condition for more than three seconds? HELLO, HI. FORTY-FOOT CEILINGS.