Alcoholics Have Careers Too

I swear that I attract interesting people like last call attracts desperate drunks. A few days ago I returned home and stopped in San Antonio to meet up with my mother and her boyfriend for lunch and a quick haircut. This woman who cut my hair is the type of person I want to see at any show I may ever do in the future.

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“Alcoholics Have Careers Too”

I usually keep my hair short for a variety of reasons:

1. It’s easier to maintain
2. Dying short hair is easier than dying long hair
3. I used to have a mullet when I was younger
4. I can’t chew on short hair as easily as long hair
5. I used to have a mullet when I was younger

However, when I am at school, I usually can’t cut my hair since the only “salon” is at Wal*Mart and I don’t think I’m allowed in there anymore. Now, why would anyone be afraid of getting their hair cut at Wal*Mart? I’ll tell you. The woman who cut my hair six months ago was a bitch. This Dolly Parton idolizer was smacking gum worse than my horse chews hay and just being all around ornery.

Now, I know I sound like I’m complaining. However, when you hit the low of getting your hair cut at a Wal*Mart, you go in expecting little. However, when you’re sitting in the chair, very still, and you hear the stylist say, “Don’t move again or I’ll cut you crooked on purpose.” You begin to wonder if there is some sort of National Barber Board (NBB if you will) that you could call.

The bitch didn’t get a tip.

Anyways, now onto my most recent endeavor in hair maintenance. A few days ago, as I said, I stopped in San Antonio getting a meal at P.F. Changs and a haircut at….some salon in an outdoor mall. As I walked in to the salon I saw that I was the last customer of the day. My mother starts fussing to the stylist that my hair is a travesty. Apparently it was too shaggy. I thought it looked fine. Anyways, she goes to go play with my car and her boyfriend follows.
The stylist shows me to her stations and asks me how I’m doing.

Stylist: “So what do you want today?

Me: “A drink. However, with me going back home for the summer, I can’t really drink.”

Stylist: “I hear that. At my old place I could enjoy a drink or two. Here though, nothin’. I could really go for some Jack.”

Me: “I’ve never had Jack before. I prefer Smirnoff or SKYY vodka.”

Stylist: “Oh, you gotta be careful with that hard stuff honey. I remember this one time when I was a little older than you, I was working at a bingo parlor. One day, this adorable elderly man said it was his birthday. Now, I knew he had no family. So my friends and I decided to take him out for drinks. Turns out, this man used to be a male model. Well, that was enough for my friends and I to start buying him more drinks. This man was having the time of his life. Imagine you’re 72 and you’re spending your birthday with four sexy 36 year olds. After we left the bar it all got fuzzy.”

This is where the story gets really good:

Stylist: “The next morning I woke up with the worst headache ever. I had no clue where I was, or why I was naked with five other people in bed, but I knew it had to have something to do with last night.”

Yep, you heard right, my hairstylist, twenty or so years ago, had an orgy with four of her friends and a 72 year old ex-model after a night of tremendous drinking. What could possibly make this story better?

Stylist: “Apparently we had all passed out at my place. Well, my friends left and someone had to take the man home; so I volunteered. This man lived in a house at the top of a long, long, flight of stairs. Naturally, he needed help. This is when I had to ask myself, ‘Am I to hungover to help him up the steps without tumbling over and dying?’ The old guy had already started up the stairs so I guess I had my answer. After barely making it up the stairs, the old man let himself in and began to yell at his dog. The dog wouldn’t shut up and the gentleman began to threaten it with the pound. I offered to take the poor creature but the man said it wouldn’t even walk on a leash. He then went into the bathroom to throw up.”

I am enthralled.

Stylist: “I looked the dog dead in the eye and said, ‘Okay, you have two options. Either get your ass on this leash and come home with me. Or stay here and die.’ The dog ten shut up, sat down, and let me put the leash on it. It was a great dog.”

The stylist then finished up my haircut. I was in a daze after hearing about the glory that was her fantastic life. However, we made it back up to the front desk, where my mother and Tex were waiting for some time, and paid. After we finish up and are heading out, my mom hands me some cash to tip the stylist with. I walk back to the front desk, take a five out of my own wallet, and say:

Me: “This is for the haircut. This,” I hand her the five, “is for a cocktail later.”

She smiled, said thanks, and then winked at me as I left.

BEST.HAIRCUT.EVER