XPost: alt.alien.vampire.flonk.flonk.flonk, alt.usenet.kooks, re
.aviation.military
From: jade@newtko0ouks.biz
On Mon, 28 Jan 2008 13:23:50 -0500, Wavy G
wrote:
>Dear, "Daedalus": Do you like me? Please check a box ( ) YES ( ) NO:
>
>>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
>
>Thank you for that advice, Jane. However, I'm no psychologist or
>anything, but I feel like you're projecting your feelings towards Claire
>upon poor Snowflake. Might I suggest a new method: sit down at your
>computer terminal input device, and type up a message about your
>feelings of hatred and disgust towards this horrid strumpet. Then,
>print out your message and crumple it into an angry wad, unravel it and
>shred it into tiny pieces. This is usually what I do to relieve myself
>of the pain and anguish that real life causes me. It also keeps the bad
>man who lives inside my throat from coming out of my fingertips and
>killing people again.
I think your method is beautiful. Tell me, do you yell at the paper or
otherwise curse before throwing it away?
>
>I love you.
I love you too.
Jade
--- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05
* Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)
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