28 December 2012

I needed a haircut. Badly. Or badly for me; most people would probably look at me and think it was short enough already, but I like it short enough to not have to fuss with it.

So off to Pro Clips I went, because after trial and error and so many really bad haircuts, I found a place that has people who don’t routinely screw up. And the same two people cut my hair every time (well, okay, not at the same time…but they’re the only two who cut it.)

There were a couple people ahead of me, so I had to wait. No problem. I sat in a chair against the far wall; there are 4 chairs there, and I sat in chair #2. This left one empty chair to my left and 2 empty chairs to my right…there are more across the waiting area, but were mostly full. There are a good six inches between the chairs, so you get plenty of personal space while you wait.

So I sat there playing solitaire on my phone, waiting my turn, when an older couple came in. He sat in the chair furthest to my right while she signed in, and when she stepped over she hesitated, then leaned down and whispered to him loudly, “I don’t want to sit next to a faggot!”

He told her to just sit. He wasn’t budging. I suppose he didn’t want to sit next to a faggot, either.

There was a little boy ahead of me; he was maybe 5 years old and getting his hair buzzed, so it wasn’t going to take long. While he giggled because the clippers tickled, the lad next to me whispered again, “I really don’t want to sit next to it.”

It.

So you know what I had to do.

I scooted the chair about an inch closer to her.

And a minute later, a tiny bit more.

I might have done it again—maybe not, I didn’t want to be the reason they got up and walked out—but the little boy’s haircut was done and Peter (haircut dude) called me up.

“Where’s your husband today?”

Ha.

I heard that old lady practically gasp.

I kind of hope she choked on a little spit.

I swapped some small talk with Peter, and proceeded to get the gayest haircut I think I’ve ever had.

That lady, though? When I paid and started to leave, I looked at her, and she was sitting there with a hand over her mouth, though I can’t honestly say if it was in shame or disbelief.

I don’t care if anyone thinks I’m gay. It’s not offensive. But that attitude?

Yeah.

Don’t care much now, though. I love my gay haircut. And tonight, I dye again.