Follicula

I haven't been to ProCuts, or any such establishment of ear-lowering since September. Some may ask why, and those are precisely the kinds of people I don't supply responses to.

For everyone else, that is, individuals who care the least, I offer the following amalgam of explanation and excuse.

I found myself going to get a trim roughly once a month, receiving a simple haircut that didn't even require a pair of scissors, and just hand them a Hamilton after seven minutes. I was paying these folks a rate of $87/hour for the same job a Flowbee could do for one easy payment of only $49.95. Outrageous? I think so. Every four weeks.

Like that's even accomplishing anything. It's just gonna grow back.

So I did something not many people do on a day-to-day basis. I thought about it.

You know what's easier than going to a barbershop every month? *Not* going to a barbershop every month. I know, it sounds obvious, but some people don't realise what they're actually doing. These are the people who haven't thought about it.

It's similar quitting smoking. Smokers spend tons of money every week doing this thing and they've long forgotten why they do it. It's been so many cigarettes ago that they were trying to look cool and fit in that they've forgotten why looking cool and fitting in were so important in the first place.

Or they just picked it up because it afforded them more breaks while on the clock.

I've quit haircuts cold turkey.

This has saved me time and money. The only thing better than a $10 haircut is a $0 haircut.

And maintenance has actually gotten easier. I've noticed that attempting to tame the waviness of my brainbox yeomen is completely futile. My comb has been rendered obsolete. Laziness: 2, Grooming: 0.

But convenience and money aren't the only aspects involved in this decision. This may actually become a source of income if I play my cards right.

As a performer, having longer hair indicates to the uninitiated precisely how hardcore I am. Somewhere down the road, this will allow me to make more money by playing live shows and selling records.

But there's even more profitability schemes I can use my cueball tarp for.

Ever since I was old enough to follow my mom around in the mall while she went shopping, old ladies with purple hair have stopped me for a quick Q&A session.

My, I love your hair. Where did you get that pretty red hair?

Stop right there.

What kind of question is this? Is this conversation you want a 4-year-old to be involved in? It grows out of my flippin' scalp, lady. I have a strict no-talking-to-strangers policy, and you're violating it right now.

For twenty years, it hasn't stopped. My responses have gotten more sarcastic over the years, but it's always rubbed me the wrong way. I don't mind attention from people I haven't met, but let it be regarding some skill or talent I possess; something a little more than what I was born with. That's like asking Dolly Parton where she got her sweater puppets from.

At any rate, it's pretty clear from all of these septuagenarians' botched dyejobs that whatever that was on top of my head is apparently a hot commodity. So I'll grow it out a bit and sell it for a premium price. I get my hair cut and *they* pay *me*.

That's an arrangement that fits my agenda.

And here's one more:

My general manager keeps making offhand references to the developments atop my noggin. Just yesterday, he shouted at me, “Get a hair cut!”

I almost retorted with “Lose some weight!” but better judgement prevailed.

If this continues, and escalates into a one-on-one encounter with the presentation of an ultimatum, I could potentially file suit against the dealership and stand to gain substantial amounts of money.

This ain't the 70s anymore. You can't fire someone because they don't find it necessary to keep beauty-school graduates in business.

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