By Retractile
Date 2009-03-09 13:02
Edited 2009-03-09 13:16
For those of you who may be wondering, I look like an upside down mop. I need a haircut and I need it bad. Due to the recent overtime I've been pulling I have had to let my personal grooming slide somewhat in that area.
So finally, a weekend off. Yay me! I do what any sensible person would do and head straight to the hair place as early as possible to beat the rush. If only I'd slept at the doorstep over night, because you see, I was too late.
There is a force on this earth that makes the angels tremble and even the demons of hell give them a wide berth. That force is none other than ... The Silver Horde!
Have you ever been to the dentist, and your lying there with a total stranger sticking arcane so-called medical instruments in your mouth while you helplessly lay their under their control? Have you heard the grinding of the drill and smelt the acrid smoke rising from your own mouth, and then heard something that just isn't right? Have you then felt the numb tugging upon said instrument as the dentist tries to get it unstuck? Have you heard the dentist comment to his attendant, "heh, guess I probably shouldn't have done that"?
Have you viewed the photo art collection in your local gallary where the photographer carefully coriagraphed the still images of a defeated battle scene. Where you have soldiers laying in shock and disbelief at their own dismemberment and injury? That was me.
So I arrive at the hair place at around 8:25 am and I'm told the wait is about 20 minutes. I make the mistaken assumption that the stylist giving me this information actually knows what she's talking about.
As I look around I realize that I have entered a domain that no man should have to endure. I was in Granny land! Yes, thats right, I found myself in the midst of the silver haired horde in full rampage. There was colorings and perms as far as they eye could see.
Tentatively, I sat on the outskirts, hoping beyond hope that I might remain unnoticed. If only they had slain me then. But no. They were talking.
The conversation I endured goes beyond human reason. There is no comparison to the torture that fell upon my ears. Talk of crotchet and husbands and charities and knitting and children and Dr's and ailments.
All competing for dominance. One asked "What thread do you use?" Which was answered "I use a 10" To which the person answered "I use a thirty." Now I have no idea what they were saying here, but it was quite clear that they did and that it was quite meaningful. She then proceeded to gloat that she had made over 40 table cloths that had ALL sold at the craft show.
At this point, it is 9:15 am. For 50 long hellish minutes I have been bombarded with these demented exchanges. My mind is now a puddle of goo, seeping from my eyes and ears. I take whats left of my humanity and stagger out the door, knowing that I am forever a damaged man.
By Hortan
Date 2009-03-09 18:01
hehe, reminds of the time I was at the doctor and they were probing around with scalpel around my private parts (I'll spare you the details) and one of them pushes at my leg and says "oops". The same pair of surgeons that discussed whether or not they had seen such bad stitching before.
Do what I do Retradertile, just cut it off with a trimmer and get it over with. The hair that is....