Things Overheard at the Local Supercuts

Supercuts. Every Time.
Except When We Screw Up. Then, You Know, Someplace Else Might Be A Better Option.

It says that right there on their website. Okay, not the second line, that was my own addition. I got my hair cut at Super(duper)cuts yesterday and came home with a lopsided head. Unfortunately I didn't notice my Gumbyness until I'd been home for an hour or two, and by then the fine establishment had closed. So, I went today after work to ask that they please cancel the hex they'd placed on my 'fro.

I've got to say, I'm glad I did. After explaining my plight and sitting down to read Time Magazine whilst I waited, a woman came in with her son, who was maybe seven years old. Mommy explained that she'd called ahead and the tyke's name was already on the list, blah blah blah, and then they walked over to the little half-shelf where every Get Your Hair And/Or Nails Did place keeps all their magazines. The boy started digging through the literary treasure trove, and Mommy kept saying "did you find it? Is it there?" Naturally, I thought that maybe they'd been waiting in the store earlier, and the kid accidentally left his copy of The Great Gatsby behind (kids read that, right?) and was anxious to retrieve it.

No, actually he was looking for the stupid book with all the pictures of hairstyles in it. People actually use that book? I thought it was there for comedic purposes. Apparently, it's for seven-year-olds who want to look like douchebags but can't decide between Summer's Eve and Massingill. Anyway, while he's perusing the Date Rapist Directory, the store's radio, which is tuned to one of our Greatest Hits From the 80s, 90s, and More stations, begins to play "Jessie's Girl." And I hear the boy singing along. Every word. Why does a seven-year old know all the lyrics to "Jessie's Girl?" I blame Guitar Hero. This is probably a completely baseless accusation.

Then, his mom decides to make a phone call. After sitting and yapping on the phone for about ten minutes, she says something along the lines of "I'd better go outside, I'm being rude to the people in here." Over the course of the next five or six minutes (while still standing inside the store) she repeats it no less than two more times: "I'm being rude to the people here, talking on my phone," before finally stepping outside. One: Supercuts does not equal Library. Two: I get the distinct impression she was sitting in front of the TV with her carrot-cake-flavored Bon Bons this morning and heard Doctor Phil say that it's rude to talk on your cell phone while standing in the middle of a semi-populated retail establishment, and it came as some sort of novel revelation to her. So, like an elementary school student who learns a new swear word, she repeated it at every opportunity. Evidently it's all right to be rude, as long as you acknowledge that you are being rude and make it clear that you don't really want to be. I did not know that.

When she saw through the window that her little pop superstar's name (which I intentionally neglected to file away in my memory) had been called, Mommy stepped back into the store for... some reason. I didn't hear anything she said to the clerk until "sorry, I just stepped outside because I didn't want to be rude." In case you're wondering, the phone was in fact still adhered to the side of her head. It seemed the thought of simply hanging up had completely eluded her, like Dr. Kimble to her mind's Clouseau (Protip: Pop-culture references are not to be mixed lightly). She then darted back outside to continue the conversation. Instead of, I don't know, making sure her little darling's scalp didn't end up perforated by a pair of finely-honed shears.

Oh, there's more. While I was sitting in the barber chair getting my dome reupholstered, I overheard the boy (who had been seated in the chair next to mine) calmly explaining that he would like his hair cut to look like Batista's. So, quick Risk Factor check: Big Rick Springfield fan? Check. Big pro wrestling fan? Check. Inattentive, dull-witted mother? Check. Let that simmer for ten, twelve years, he'll be a real keeper.

Finally, after my coiffure was repaired and I stepped out the door of Supercuts, I overheard a snippet of Mommy's phone conversation: "I'm making money. Oh, I am making money."

Dear Lord, please don't let her be rich, too. The world does not need another Nick Hogan.

And the perfect cap to my outing? On the way home, I saw this huge anti-war protest going on around the clock tower at Largo Central Park. I mean, there must have been at least... three people there, holding signs. No, that's exactly how many there were. Three. And one of them was dressed up as Rorshach. I wouldn't lie about something like that. I'm genetically predisposed towards not making up that kind of crap. Mitch Hedberg once said, "six people isn't convincing." So, even if you allow that Rorshach (even an imposter Rorshach) is as persuasive as four normal men... they still aren't convincing anyone. But it was definitely an "I wish I had my camera" moment.

Next time you need a haircut, go to Supercuts. Every Time.

I wish I was more of a U2 fan.

U2 is coming to Tampa and playing a show on my birthday this year. That's really awesome, and I like U2 and all. They're a phenomenal band, don't get me wrong. Just, you know, I'm not a big huge mega-fan. Not like "oh my God they're in concert on my birthday what an awesome gift that would be!!!" In fact, tickets to that show would be kind of a crappy gift for me. The outrageous amount of money spent on those tickets would be much better off going towards a dozen different things I could name, in terms of Stuff Marcos Wants for His Birthday.

Plus, I hate crowds of people. They're one of my biggest pet peeves. I can't stand the thought of wading through the unwashed masses just to pay too much money for a Pepsi. Or a T-shirt. I am not a "people person." I put up -- just barely -- with crowds at comic book conventions, on the rare occasion that I can afford to attend one, and there are two reasons. The first is that the benefit I gain from seeing all the talented writers and artists and getting to chat with them in person, and picking up cool swag and maybe even a few sketches, greatly outweighs the annoyance of having to crowd-surf. The second is the fact that the crowd itself is at least partly made up of reclusive, skittish comic book geeks (I hate the stereotype because I don't exactly fit it, but I have to admit there is a small grain of truth to it), rather than the drunken obnoxious frat boys or aging hipsters I might find at a concert. Prototypical Comic Book Guy might smell, but he won't get up in your face and be all "WOOOOO! I LOVE THIS SONG!!!" If he does invade your space, a quick jab in the man-boob will send him shuffling on his way.

(Not everyone at comic conventions is a pudgy wimp, and I accept no responsibility for you getting your can handed to you by the guy who's giving the Judo demonstration in Meeting Room B-14 at 3:00. You provoked him, not me.)

Anyway, back to my point. I wish a band I liked a lot more was playing on my birthday. Like, I don't know, Boy Hits Car, or the Black Keys, or Bloc Party. Or, I could just be a bigger U2 fan, but that doesn't do anything for the cost of tickets. I mean, why do I even know about a concert that's taking place in October already? Because the mass media is pimping it out because they know it'll completely sell out, and that means that prices pretty much start at "My Left Arm." And that's for lousy seats where you can't tell if that's Bono or just a cookie crumb stuck to your eyelash.

Hey, maybe there's a cool movie being released on my birthday... Let's see... The Informant, and Zombieland. Hmm, and Couple's Retreat, but from the looks of it, just mentioning it is more thought than I really want to be giving it. I think I read somewhere that Sherlock Holmes has been pushed back to my birthday...ish. Oooh, and Where the Wild Things Are is slated to come out the week after my birthday. Sweet!

There's no real reason for me to commit any of this to my blog. In fact, I am typing it from my mother-in-law's ailing laptop while the virus scan runs in the background, so I'm probably just re-infecting the interwebs. It's not Conficker, though, so enjoy.