The Bandana

The Bandana

More properly, The Bandanas I frequently wear. It’s a professional addition. Roots reach back to cold-water bed-sits in old East Austin. Back in the day. Way back.

Think: wired phones. I had three phones lines, one for either data, almost pre-Internet, or as a private line, one for fax, one was the home/office and one was wait, I lost track. I had two, then a third one was added when the company I was contracted to for readings, when that business really took off.

Took off to the point, at one point, I was available for calls, 45 hours a week, and I was talking for close to 40 hours. A great distance from talking ten hours in a two-week period. Didn’t last long, but I had to adapt, quickly. Means I got a wired headset, the phone itself was a small box with keypad and phone jack, then the earpiece and boom mic were added.

Headsets were a new thing. Having previously experienced excruciating neck pain from cradling a standard handset, years as a consultant meant hours on the phone, I knew I had to remain upright, not leaning into the phone.

Helped to have both hands free for shuffling (Tarot) cards and typing in birth data to cast an astrology chart. I’ve got thinning hair, a receding hairline, as it is. Was. At that time. I was still a little worried about the way my curly locks got entangled with the headset, the earpiece and so forth.

The cure?

Wear a bandana, keep locks out of headset and wires.

The added advantage of the bandana was also to allow me to wear my hair long, no ponytail, and the stray locks didn’t wander in front of my face.

From the earliest years with a wired headsets, right on up to the present day, the bandana, or some kind of head cover, not quite a trademark, but a common element, now. It started as a solution to a problem, wavy curls entangled in wired, over-ear headsets.

The beat goes on. I frequently still wear the bandana as head gear, keeps stray locks from falling across my face. The unruly hair gives me a distinctive “Mad Scientist” look.

About the author: Born and raised in a small town in East Texas, Kramer Wetzel spent years honing his craft in a trailer park in South Austin. He hates writing about himself in third person. More at KramerWetzel.com.