I was in a quandary about where to go. I don't like paying upwards of $30-$50 every month for a haircut, but I don't trust the sheep shearers at Great Clips or the barbers in booty shorts at Knockouts. So I looked into some of the cheaper salon-style places housed in beauty supply stores like Ulta. I knew I would be the only man there, and I was okay with that. I'm secure in my manhood. Turns out their men's cuts are about the same price, so I bit the bullet and set up an appointment. I figured their stylists might take a little more pride in their work.
Unfortunately, I would never find out.
Just in case the stylist was available early, I arrived about ten minutes in advance and was shown to the seating area, where a woman was seated with her daughter of about eight. I sat down for all of two seconds before realizing I had a bit too much beverage in my system and I urgently needed to visit the restroom to throw some lightning bolts. The manager showed me to a door down the hall.
I gave the door knob a jiggle. Locked. No big. I can wait a minute. I stood patiently, observing the techniques of the stylists in hope of easing my anxiety. One minute stretched into five. I began to wonder if maybe the manager forgot to mention that needed a key. But no, the door finally opened. A teenage Ke$ha-shaped creature clad head-to-toe in pink shuffled its Uggs out to the lobby. I turned to step into the bathroom and was immediately swept up in a re-enactment from the movie Backdraft, as a scorching wave of sulfurous brimstone blew me back against the opposite wall.
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| WHAT THE EFF WAS THAT??? |
As I sat on the ground, my mind in disarray trying to wrestle the pieces of what had just happened into place, it dawned on me why the Ke$ha-It had been in there so long. How could such a diminutive creature be the source of such rank abomination? Unfortunately, the duration of Its feculent meditation put me in a dire situation and I had no choice but to lock myself in with the aftermath. One of the fringe benefits of running a lot is it develops strong lungs that allow you to hold your breath for long periods, which I proceeded to do.
Exiting the restroom in a smokey haze, my disbelief at what the It had done quickly gave way to a sort of glowering resentment. As I turned the corner to head back to my seat, I saw Uggs sitting next to the woman with the eight-year old. And the only seat left in the place was on the couch, right next to It. Reluctantly I perched myself, hands on knees, back ram-rod straight, beside It to await what was now sure to be a disastrous hair cut. Uggs didn't even glance in my direction, just sat there as if everything was normal. As if to say, "Just went Dresden on the restroom, guy. NO BIG DEAL." The longer I sat there, the smell still clawing the walls of my olfactories, the more incensed I became. I wanted to turn to It and say, "I know what you did."
Finally I could endure no more. I stepped to the counter and inquired as to how much longer I would have to share a space with "that thing over there." The manager studied the stylists for a moment and concluded that they were a little behind. I would have to wait another 20 minutes. Unacceptable. I gave an aggravated exhale to let the manager know of my displeasure at her answer. Then I narrowed my eyes and fixed my most judgmental gaze on Uggs to let It know what I thought of Its behavior before turning and making a huffy exit worthy of a much higher end salon. Fresh air has never tasted so good.
"Feculent meditation" has now entered my lexicon, to be used sparingly, but adroitly, and for that, I thank you. The most pungent among us are often found in our most lillaputian. For purely health-related reasons, you should have discussed her diet with her mother. Subsisting entirely on corn chips and gummy bears does not allow one a healthy make.
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