Overheard at the hairdresser

Info is a hairdresser's stock in trade, and Sue is no exception. I've long relied on her, for lore both mundane and arcane. What to do if the dishwasher soap pills don't melt? Which farm has the best raspberries and has the season closed yet? When are Prince Harry and Meghan getting married? Sue knows all.

She also knows people. While I waited for my perm to set, she chatted with another client whose hair she was trimming.

"Going to pick blueberries again this year, Alice?"

"Sure. This will be my fifth year."

As one does, they included me in the conversation. "Tell her how old you are," suggested Sue, "and how you got the job."

"I'll be ninety-five in August." I goggled as Alice continued. "I went there for U-pick berries. When I got to the cashier, she was impressed by how much I'd picked in half an hour. She asked me if I wanted a job." She smiled. "First, I thought she was kidding. But she wasn't. I thought it over and told her I'd give it a try. That was five years ago."

She was ninety at the time. Three years older than Queen Elizabeth.