Hair
By Ben Kharakh
I’ve noticed that a rogue hair has split from the pack and formed a contraband that is currently stationed near my chin. They should have consulted the lower lip before making such a brash decision and the lower lip would have told them that they need to acquire a permit from the local municipality building, located on the forehead above the right eye. There they would discover that there’s no room for them; the face is crowded enough as it is with the nose and everything. The hairs would rebut by using the eyebrows and lashes as examples, but they would be told that spots were filed on a first come first served basis. Some solace may accompany the knowledge that an amusement park will be opening soon on the left cheek, and, as long as positions are available, the hair and its friends can open a concession stand.
It’s difficult to introduce a bit like that. One possible way is, “So, how’s puberty going for you?” but that could lead to, “You know what? This conversation isn’t going well. Let’s change the topic. If you were a sandwich, what type of sandwich would you be?”
“Turkey.”
“You see, you’re thinking `I want to be this type of sandwich because I think it’s tasty.”
“No.”
“Then you’re a liar. Anyway, you should want to be an unpleasant sandwich, something ethnically based or involving strange meats that people would normally avoid, that way you’ll outlive all the other sandwiches.”
But the problem with changing the subject like that is that the same thing could happen to you, “You know what? I don’t like the way this conversation is going.” What goes around comes around or, as some say, what’s good for the goose is good for the gander, or in this case what’s good for one person is good for another. That’s the trouble with analogies; people use them too much and it leads to confusion.
It’s like, “Well sometimes life is like a fish, and the scales are the difficult parts. And sometimes fish get caught in nets, dolphins too but they’re not fish- they’re aquatic mammals. Wait, I’m lost. What was I saying? Oh yeah. The key is to lather, rinse, and then repeat, not, “Lather, repeat, rinse,” because that gets you nowhere, unless you consider getting soap in your eye an accomplishment.
It all comes back to hair. I don’t enjoy haircuts; I don’t like the experience as a whole. It starts with the short conversation between the cutter and the one getting the cutting “How do you want it cut?” “I don’t know; regular, plain, just make it shorter than it is now.”
Then they ask about the buzzer; hair cutters like the buzzer because it makes their job easier, but they may get carried away-- accidentally shave off an eyebrow or nose.
For people who want to give themselves a hair cut there’s the Flowbee, a buzzer attachment for vacuum cleaners. This is one of the leading causes of ear related injuries in America.
I avoid talking with the hair cutter or looking directly into their eyes through the mirror because that could lead to trouble—scissor in eye trouble.
I sometimes suspect that the cutter may have malicious tendencies, as I have noticed that she likes to pull my hair, and leaves an opening in the tarp near the nape of the neck so that hair is funneled down the shirt. My main fear now is that she will salt my scalp so new follicles appear, but that can’t happen for at least another forty-five days.