to dye for


On our way to Burning Man, my friend Scot and I stayed at a motel in Alturas, California. When I checked in, the woman at the desk asked if anyone in my party was going to dye his or her hair. I thought hard about that. Then I told her that I liked my hair just the way it was, and my fellow traveler didn’t have much hair to dye.

It turns out that she wasn’t offering hair dyeing services. She was pretty worked up and the story quickly spilled out — about the burners who had stayed at their establishment, dyed their hair, and completely ruined the towels by getting dye all over them. She works hard to keep the place in good condition and can’t have people destroying her linens like that.

I was honestly sympathetic. I hope she had a credit card number for the offenders and gave them a hefty extra charge. Sheesh. People like that give all burners a bad rap.  I was still shaking my head over this stupid behavior later that night, as my friend and I dyed the motel bed sheets purplish-blue per our accustomed ritual. It’s a religious thing for us, not a dorky fashion statement.



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