The building that houses my salon sits right smack dab on the corner of a block of the downtown district where the city is fond of closing off our cross street for events such as the farmers’ market. The main street is — well — Main Street.

And Main Street is where they hold the annual Christmas parade on the Monday after Thanksgiving each year.

It’s a pretty big to-do for a city that lacks much sense of community. Upwards of 30,000 people are estimated to show up for the gig. They start lining the sidewalks with chairs by 8 a.m. to claim their spaces. By 3 p.m. the street is almost dead and people have started putting blankets in the parking spaces along the street.

This is amusing for many people watching the process because the street doesn’t actually close until around 5:00 and not every downtown merchant is smart enough to close up shop for the day. So people still come and park on top of the blankets — sometimes because they didn’t see them (little old ladies visiting the fabric shop), sometimes because they’re jerks establishing the fact that the street isn’t closed yet and you shouldn’t have put your stupid blanket in a parking space.

Here on the fourth floor, we do it up right for the parade. The massage therapist with the corner office, the hairstylist across the hall, one of the other neighbors (who runs a trucking company), and I get together, line the hallway with food and throw open our shutters and throw up our sashes. (We don’t actually have shutters on our windows, but we do have old-fashioned windows.)

It’s the only night of the year when you’ll hear me invite children into my salon. We all invite friends, family, and clients up to enjoy the parade from our prime real estate in the relative comfort of our heated offices.

It’s a huge hit.

Except — I work on Mondays. Most of my clients know that traveling to our downtown district on the day of the parade is a headache. They are more than willing to reschedule their regular appointments to avoid downtown altogether. But every so often, I have someone who doesn’t quite understand what they’re up against; people who didn’t grow up here, people who have never ventured downtown on parade day.

I tell them they are going to want to reschedule. They seem dubious. I tell them they won’t be able to park. They won’t be able to drive down Main Street. By the time of their appointment, I warn them that the entire floor will be crawling with people, even children!

Yes. If they absolutely do not want to reschedule, I assure them that I am willing to work around the party. But they need to understand that there will bea party.

Ultimately, they tell me they can reschedule and “let me have fun.”

Geesh, it’s not like I didn’t invite them to the party.