So, there I was, no chit...seven miles behind enemy lines. With nothing more than a Bic razor and a mirror. So, we have a shaver right? So, I'm looking at my haircut in the mirror about a week or so ago. I have to cut my hair about every ten days. Which, even with a military discount gets expensive. So, of course I tip when I can find someone who can cut a good fade. Not everyone can so when you find that person you become a repeat customer. Anyhow, the last time I went in, I had that dude I may have blogged about earlier, not sure. No wait, that was Face Book. Anyhow, homeslice showed up just prior to me at the, "Rockstar" barbershop/salon in Draper. So, they're supposed to open at 0900. I showed up at 0905 to find this guy sitting in his Chevy Avalanche. So, I knew of course he was, 'in-line' and I wasnt too worried about it. Anyhow, after about ten minutes of waiting, I finally see there are people inside stirring around. So, of course I get out, and look through the door and point to the handle. So, anyhow, as I'm walking over to the door, el douche' makes his way over to the door to beat me there. Whatever, normally that wouldnt be a big deal.
OK, let me back up a little. So, this guy, as I sat in the parking lot two stalls away, was in his 100% fully "wrapped" Chevy Avalanche. It's wrapped with the logo of the company he obviously works for. "Immortal Sheds". But, I catch a look at this guy, and he's got these aviator-style glasses on and this girlish hair hanging ever-so-carefully coiffed over them on one side. A real pretty boy. Anyhow, so as he gets out, he's about I dont know, six three or so. He's got a Don Johnson five day beard and about four different shades of pretty-boy blonde hair in there intentionally trying to make him look like he just woke up. So, he's wearing this designer T shirt with a big cross on it, and he's got flame tattoos leaking down his arms. But, my first instinct, which proved to be correct, was that he was a total poser. So, anyhow, I get to the door, and he puffs up his chest and tries to look down at me. Of course I'm in uniform so I'm in "whatever" mode. So anyhow, El Douche' then GRABS for the handle before I can get to it. Which, for the record I was going to hold open for him, in acknowledgement that he was there first.
So anyhow, he says, "Hey" with a tough-guy head nod and makes his way in and immediately announces his arrival to Julie. So, unbeknownst to El Douche', Julie and I have actually had many conversations about how much she despises the guys that are more prissy than girls with their hair. Anyhow, the other lady (there were two) proceedes to invite me back. So, I'm sitting there in the chair, and I can hear this guy, giving her instructions. IMPLICIT instructions on the subtle nuances of El Douche'-ism and the proper care and feeding of his boy-band hair. So, I'm listening to this crap and Sarah, or June or whatever asks me what I want. So I say, "Skin on the sides, medium fade. Fingerlength on top." Done. D-U-N DONE.
So, I'm sitting there listening to this candy-ass go on and on and I actually hear Julie say, "I dont FEEL like that's what we want to do here, and she's pulling on his bangs and stuff like she would if they were characters in Steele Magnolias. So, by now, I'm putting together his banty-rooster posturing out front, and my disdain for his self-absorbancy (like Bounty, the Quicker Picker Upper) is really starting to piss me off. So, I start saying louder to my haircut girl, "yeah, whatever, if it's too short it'll grow back in a few days. Whatever" and of course I lay it on as thick as I can as to what a giant pussy this guy is, in contrast to what a real fellah would ask for when sitting in the chair. I'm actually getting rather heated, because he just has that air about him that he honest-to-goodness believes he's all that and a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos. So, knowing I'm in uniform and I can't afford to clean his clock, I continue minimizing my haircut in ever-increasing volume, erstwhile watching him through the mirror, and letting him know with my eyes that some people might fall for his cock-of-the-walk persona, but I aint buyin' it.
Anyhow, so she rinses my hair and I put axle grease or some other petroleum based product in it and walk out. But while I'm walking out, I see on the front of his Douche' Mobile, he has a chain wrapped through the front grill of his girl truck. Like seriously? You couldnt just drive a pink Barbie Jeep? Who the hell are you trying to fool fellah? I'll betcha you dont even have a six-cylinder in that thing. What the HELL are you going to tow with that? Are you going to come along and see some old lady in a Prius stuck in 1" of snow and pull her out? REALLY?! What an ass. Seriously dude, if there is a woman in your life, for more than about three weeks, I'm guessing your not closing the deal all that often. I'm guessing that you also have to tell them that you fly helicopters or that you own a giant boat at Lake Powell or something. Seriously? THAT is your Mac??? Dude. I actually pity you. NO kidding. You've almost convinced yourself that you're that tough.
I think what it is for me are the banty roosters that think somehow that they are intimidating. Like...perhaps being good at basketball in fourth grade somehow makes you a bad-ass at 39. I think the other thing that bothers me, is that they've enjoyed a relatively safe environment in Utah where relatively few people call them on it. It's not all that often that someone just puts your dink in the dirt for being an assbag. OK, so this sounds a little harsh I get it. But really when you've stood shoulder to shoulder with guys who really CAN do that, you dont fall for the posers. They pretty much run at the first sight of trouble. These are the guys that lay down on the soccer field wrything in "pain" to get a Red Card for the opposing team! First off, what the HELL is a Red Card? Like...a card makes me stop wanting to pummel you into fine-grain powder if you piss me off???! Yeah, NOT gonna work. No way in God's Green Earth you can convince me soccer is an actual sport. SOCCER is a way for you to keep your cardio in balance in the off-season. It's not an end-state it's an intermediate distraction at best.
OK, so where was I? So, oh yeah. Anyhow, so this past week, I was looking at myself in the mirror, dreading the haircut. So I thought I'd cut it with the clippers. 1/4 inch guide. So I put the guide on, run it over through and around and down and was dissatisfied with the results. So then I took the guide off, and just took it off. By that time, I realized, who we kidding? So I just Bic'd it. Anyhow, it's all gone. I've shaved it about five more times since then. Gotta tell you, I personally am starting to like it.
So, here's the funny thing. Not everyone likes it. Yeah, I know, you're shocked. But it turns out, that of the 50 or so people that have voluntarily offered their criticism, only about 1/5 of those really say they like it. But the other thing is, the amount of emotional recoiling I've witnessed by some. I've literally had some of the ladies in the office put their hands over their mouths and gasp and almost cry. I'm not really sure why MY hair has caused THEIR emotional reaction, but whatever.
Anyhow, so I better close I guess. Suffice it to say, it's been a surprising week. I've enjoyed a lot of good-natured ribbing and offered some in retaliation too. I think the best part about it, is that the people I work with, those people who genuinely put it all on the line, they got my back. Even if they poke fun, or make posters and powerpoint poke-fun, they've got my back. They're not like El Douche' who parades around in his designer pretty-girl bottom-bling jeans. These are people with honor and concern for others.
OK, really, I'm out. Just...know I got your back if you need me. Sorry if I said naughty words and offended your sensibilities. I'm at best a work in progress. But here's the deal, I'll tell you straight up where I think we stand with each other and you can always count on me for that.
OK, seriously go now, you're starting to piss me off. You dont want any of this. Trust me.
Always,
J
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