ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY THE SOMERS RECORD (04-26-18)
I get a haircut about twice every year, once on my 401K when the stock market goes kablooey, and once on my head when my hair starts to transition from its Bon Jovi phase into its Foghat phase. I used to get it cut at a barber shop, but one of my co-workers years ago convinced me to "invest in myself," which as a long-term strategy has shown little return. She browbeat me into going to a Vidal Sassoon shop in the city, and the results were disastrous, when I came out looking like a cross between one of Charlie's Angels (not one known for her great hairstyle) and a Papillon. But I settled on a salon, and now a very nice fellow named JD styles my hair.
The receptionist there waves me on to the shampoo girl, and it's obvious from her look that she remembers that I didn't tip her last time, so she tries to butter me up. She asks me if I want a drink, and I wonder if they have anything alcoholic besides me. Why should I tip her for washing my hair when it's only going to end up all over the floor anyway? She asks me is the water too hot, how do I like the music, and how am I doing today. All of a sudden I'm on a date with my shampoo girl, and I picture us with clean hair, holding hands, running with scissors.
I don't even need a shampoo; I just washed my hair last night at the gym. The shampoo they have there is called "green tea and lemongrass." I like the smell, but what weird agricultural accident caused those two ingredients to come together? I can imagine the scene in the R & D department over at the shampoo factory. "Smell this. What do you smell? It's called 'kale and lingonberries.'" "I smell lingonberries." "You don't smell the kale?" "Kale has no smell." "Yes, but it brings out the lingonberries." "You don't need to bring out lingonberries, they're already out. If anything, you need some poisonous mushrooms to rein them back in. Wasn't Schneiderman working on that?" "Yes, well, he passed away...." I don't use hair conditioner at the gym. What if it smells like mint? Then I have to spend the entire rest of my shower joking to myself that my hair is in mint condition, and I have to get on with my life.
I pass a little time by bantering with my hairstylist. I tell him to cut only the gray hairs, then I tell him to give me the same look as Trump, etc. He laughs in a foreign accent, but I'm careful not to say anything REALLY funny, because if he starts cracking up he might snip off my ear. The same thing happened to Vincent Van Gogh, mystery solved.
Have you seen these 20-year old kids who are dying their hair gray? It's actually pretty smart, because in 50 years no one is going to know exactly when they got old. If they REALLY want to be brilliant, they should get a hip replacement and start complaining about the loud music and blur the generation gap.
JD starts rooting around inside my ear with an electric trimmer. "What are you in there for, I don't have any hair there," I complain. "If you say so," he says. I add, "If there's anything in there, it's probably from the cat. That cat hair is all over the house. I even have cat hair on my car seat." "You shouldn't let your cat drive your car," he says in a different accent than before.
When he's done he asks me if I want any product in my hair, and I tell him it depends on the product. Product 19 is a cereal, for instance, and it's the most boring cereal on the planet. Can you imagine what the other 18 products that they rejected tasted like?
I can see that my visit has started to put the place on edge. I make a mental note to start tipping everybody. This time I tip the stylist, the receptionist, the shampoo girl, the building security guard and also my cat.
I get a haircut about twice every year, once on my 401K when the stock market goes kablooey, and once on my head when my hair starts to transition from its Bon Jovi phase into its Foghat phase. I used to get it cut at a barber shop, but one of my co-workers years ago convinced me to "invest in myself," which as a long-term strategy has shown little return. She browbeat me into going to a Vidal Sassoon shop in the city, and the results were disastrous, when I came out looking like a cross between one of Charlie's Angels (not one known for her great hairstyle) and a Papillon. But I settled on a salon, and now a very nice fellow named JD styles my hair.
The receptionist there waves me on to the shampoo girl, and it's obvious from her look that she remembers that I didn't tip her last time, so she tries to butter me up. She asks me if I want a drink, and I wonder if they have anything alcoholic besides me. Why should I tip her for washing my hair when it's only going to end up all over the floor anyway? She asks me is the water too hot, how do I like the music, and how am I doing today. All of a sudden I'm on a date with my shampoo girl, and I picture us with clean hair, holding hands, running with scissors.
I don't even need a shampoo; I just washed my hair last night at the gym. The shampoo they have there is called "green tea and lemongrass." I like the smell, but what weird agricultural accident caused those two ingredients to come together? I can imagine the scene in the R & D department over at the shampoo factory. "Smell this. What do you smell? It's called 'kale and lingonberries.'" "I smell lingonberries." "You don't smell the kale?" "Kale has no smell." "Yes, but it brings out the lingonberries." "You don't need to bring out lingonberries, they're already out. If anything, you need some poisonous mushrooms to rein them back in. Wasn't Schneiderman working on that?" "Yes, well, he passed away...." I don't use hair conditioner at the gym. What if it smells like mint? Then I have to spend the entire rest of my shower joking to myself that my hair is in mint condition, and I have to get on with my life.
I pass a little time by bantering with my hairstylist. I tell him to cut only the gray hairs, then I tell him to give me the same look as Trump, etc. He laughs in a foreign accent, but I'm careful not to say anything REALLY funny, because if he starts cracking up he might snip off my ear. The same thing happened to Vincent Van Gogh, mystery solved.
Have you seen these 20-year old kids who are dying their hair gray? It's actually pretty smart, because in 50 years no one is going to know exactly when they got old. If they REALLY want to be brilliant, they should get a hip replacement and start complaining about the loud music and blur the generation gap.
JD starts rooting around inside my ear with an electric trimmer. "What are you in there for, I don't have any hair there," I complain. "If you say so," he says. I add, "If there's anything in there, it's probably from the cat. That cat hair is all over the house. I even have cat hair on my car seat." "You shouldn't let your cat drive your car," he says in a different accent than before.
When he's done he asks me if I want any product in my hair, and I tell him it depends on the product. Product 19 is a cereal, for instance, and it's the most boring cereal on the planet. Can you imagine what the other 18 products that they rejected tasted like?
I can see that my visit has started to put the place on edge. I make a mental note to start tipping everybody. This time I tip the stylist, the receptionist, the shampoo girl, the building security guard and also my cat.
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment