XPost: alt.alien.vampire.flonk.flonk.flonk, alt.usenet.kooks, re
.aviation.military
XPost: alt.2600
From: greg@nospam.okthx
Wavy G wrote in
news:os4sp3pqj0rietctnllogo96b2gmp60eau@4ax.com:
> 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.
One of those cheap-yet-expensive, shitty haircut places with about eight
chairs, staffed by college kids and bored housewives. Yuck.
> 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.
There's still one or two of those 'round here. They're inexpensive and
do a good job, but they're scary when they whip out the straight razor
because those old guys have shaky hands. I always tip at least 20% so
the old coot will be sure and remember to take his meds the next time I
pay a visit.
> 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.
WTF do you look at the mags and shit for?! You're supposed to stare at
the hottie manning the cash register. That's why she's wearing that
tight shirt with the plunging neckline. Go ahead and stare. Nobody will
notice you; they're busy staring, too. (Yes, even the female customers
are staring. But for a different reason; i.e., they're jealous and
they're trying to telepathically induce a fatal heart attack.)
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.
What, no physical contact? Last time I visited one of those shitholes I
almost felt like I'd gotten a lap dance. It was like she was trying to
style my hair with her boobs, or something.
> 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).
Sure, they're trained to work with the public. I think Lesson One is:
"Act slutty and you'll get more money."
> 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.
Didja stick it down the front of her shirt? That's what they expect.
> 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."
I dunno, don't you think it would be pretty fucking creepy to have one of
those old guys rubbing up against your face and calling you "sweetheart"
every few minutes?
--- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05
* Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)
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