XPost: alt.alien.vampire.flonk.flonk.flonk, alt.usenet.kooks, re   
   .aviation.military   
   From: jade@newtko0ouks.biz   
      
   On Mon, 28 Jan 2008 12:43:43 -0500, Wavy G    
   wrote:   
      
   >Attention newsgroup friends: I have some disturbing news to report to   
   >you all.  Last week I went to get my hair cut (please don't make the   
   >obvious joke about how it should be worded "hairs cut" because, a] of   
   >the serious nature of this post and, b] that's really tiresome) at one   
   >of these discount hair salons.  Now, as you are all probably aware, most   
   >of the people they hire to cut hair these days are girls (at least in   
   >the places I've lived).  Therein the problem lies.   
   >   
   >Remember the old days, when you'd go down the street to the corner   
   >"barbershop," and get your hair cut by a kindly old man in a white   
   >jacket with a comb in his pocket?  And at any given time, during normal   
   >business hours, you'd see the men of the town sitting around at the   
   >local barbershop, gossiping, reading the paper, playing checkers,   
   >talking about the weather, etcetera.  It was like the "boys club." Well,   
   >no, I don't really remember those days, but I've seen that sort of stuff   
   >in movies and on "Saturday Evening Post" calendars and stuff.   
   >   
   >Anyway, I'm sitting there at the hair salon, waiting to be called on,   
   >and perusing one of those dated hairstyle selection books, (which looked   
   >more like a bunch of "In Living Color" publicity stills, circa 1992) for   
   >what seemed like half-an-eon.  During an apparent break between smoking   
   >and gabbing on the phone, the girl finally decided to come up front and   
   >look at the sign-in sheet.  I was brimming with anticipation; I knew I   
   >was next!  She called my name and I looked up, all surprised-like, as if   
   >I hadn't been expecting them to call me so quickly, and headed on back   
   >to get my hair trimmed.  This is where it all went bad...   
   >   
   >I sat down in the chair, and the girl put the cloth around my neck, and,   
   >skipping the small-talk, she boldly asked me, "How do you want your hair   
   >cut today, hon?"  WHAT?!?!  Did I just hear what I think I heard?  Did   
   >this girl just call me "hon"?  No, she couldn't have, not in this day   
   >and age.  I thought I would just let it slide and pretend it didn't   
   >happen.  She went on...  "Can you tip your head down for me,   
   >sweetheart?"  What?  "Sweetheart"???  She used another sexually-tilted   
   >term, as though trying to make a "pass" at me.  And, as if that weren't   
   >bad enough already, she used the term "hon" again, only this time   
   >coupled with a blunt and offensive proclamation that she was going to do   
   >her best to "keep [me] handsome."  I was officially a victim of sexual   
   >abuse.   
   >   
   >How could this happen?  Aren't these girls trained to work with the   
   >public?  Don't they know that this sort of behaviour is inappropriate   
   >these days?  I mean, you would think that in the 21st century (Wow, that   
   >sounds weird saying, doesn't it?  It's like we're all living in the   
   >future and shit.) a man could go into a hair salon, or any place of   
   >commerce, without having to worry about being harassed by the sex-crazed   
   >females hired to work there for pittance.  I just couldn't take it any   
   >more.  Finally, she said, "well, you're all finished, 'handsome,'" (as   
   >if not acknowledging it the first go around means I didn't hear it).   
   >   
   >I got up from the chair and walked away, brushing my own follicle   
   >trimmings off my person, as if symbolically shedding what little dignity   
   >hadn't already ended up with the sweepings on the floor.  Though I was   
   >doing all I could not to cry, I knew I had to be strong.  I held my head   
   >up, and walked up to the counter to pay for her services, and to get my   
   >preferred customer card stamped.  I tipped her, because I am an honest   
   >gentleman, but I assure you it was meagerly.  As I walked out to my car,   
   >holding on to what shred of dignity I had left, I felt a cool breeze   
   >tickle the clippings that had fallen on the back of my neck, and I   
   >longed for the days of the "Saturday Evening Post."   
      
      
   Wavy,   
   I am so sorry for the pain you've endured at the hands of this   
   predator. As a fellow soul seeking peace, I know you are well in tune   
   with exorcising these traumas from yourself.   
      
   I have a technique I use often myself to help purge the negative   
   residue from my life. I project the feelings I have onto stuffed   
   animals and use them as surrogates.   
      
   I have a stuffed penguin named Snowflake that has helped me through   
   many incidents I endure in my outings. Just the other day as I was at   
   the dry cleaner and received change from a careless clerk named Claire   
   who did not stack the bills in order of monetary value. I went home   
   feeling angry that she did not love me enough to take care with my   
   money. I immediately commenced to strangle snowflake and yell "Ones on   
   top of fives, Claire! Ones on top of fives!" for several minutes   
   before my soul let go and I could apologize to Snowflake and pet her   
   soft fur.   
      
   This technique may be useful to you in the future. Just know I care   
   about you.   
      
   Be well.   
      
   Jade   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)