Bad Haircut

I got a free haircut today. Actually I had to pay for it up front but eventually I calmed down enough to make a phone call and - wait. That's not exactly true. I had to leave a message and by the time the Ye Olde Haircutting Company head office called me back I had calmed down enough to talk civilly to the girl and she offered me a refund.

What I really wanted was for somebody to die for what was done to me - to my head, but I'm not a monarch in some ultra dictatorial medieval society - which is a shame, really. I think I'd make a good one but I'm not, so nobody dies every time I get pissed off. Like when I walk into Ye Olde Haircutting Co with a big flowing head of hair and say "Hi! How are ya! Just clean it up a bit please!" and the girl goes and buzzes me just about bald. Yes, this pisses me off.

I have a full beard, you see, and glasses and a fairly wide head to begin with - well, it started off a nicely proportioned head if I may boast but when 2 decades of beer and carbohydrates throws an extra hundred pounds your way, some of it goes to the face. Anyway, a face like that has a lot going on and requires a good amount of hair for the right balance. When it's reduced to a subtle hint of fuzz on the sides and a slightly mohawk-esque strip of longer fuzz over the top - which, by the way, is actually blended very artfully to the hint-o'-fuzz and gently builds to a point at the centre - well - it's just bloody ridiculous and now I'm locked in the house for the next two weeks. Me and my miniature cone-head.

Let's face it. I'm a freak now. This sort of cut might be passable on the latest military recruit or on some slow-eyed psycho pointy-headed teenager with pimples and army fatigue pants and no better ambitions in life than to make a blood bath of his high school - but on me - yeah. Freak.

Perhaps I should just live up to the look. I could throw on a lot of olive green and a pair of boots and just burst into the Ye Olde Haircutting Co with my assault rifles and blow holes in everybody. Okay, that's just a really bad idea. I apologize for that. Anyway I don't have an assault rifle and wouldn't know where to get one. Oh - you know what? I could just use their scissors and stab them all to pieces and - Sorry. Bad idea.

Although, if you're a writer of thrillers and think this would make a good plot - by all means - use it. Take it. No compensation required. You don't even have to mention me on the acknowledgements page. If it makes money you can do a sequel where he goes to the head office and hunts down the head office refund girl.

By the way - they're not really called the Ye Olde Haircutting Co. I just don't want to get slammed for libel so I won't mention their name. Let's just say that they've been my FIRST CHOICE in haircutting places since I moved to this neck-of-the-woods a couple years ago.

And I'll go back to them again. Not just because I'm a sucker. Because now I'm expecting a voucher for a free haircut to arrive in the mail. That's right. I wanted someone to die as retribution. They offered a complete refund. And we somehow negotiated our way to a voucher. I realize this settlement is no where near a compromise and falls entirely outside our initial range and fully on their side of things. What can I say? I can't negotiate for shit. I'm a poor negotiator. I hope you'll overlook that if you happen to be a recruiter looking to fill a position of 'King'. I realize a king should be a skilled negotiator. I realize this is a core competency but please be assured - I'm willing to learn. And I'm a fast learner.

The worst part is - it'll be months before I need another haircut and the voucher will surely expire by then. Maybe I can scalp it (ha ha. no pun intended).

So if you see a fat guy with glasses, beard and a tiny built-in yarmulke on an otherwise bald head the next time you visit your first choice in haircutters - do stop and say 'Hi' and consider buying my voucher. Thanks.

FWG