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Tip the OptionThis story may contain adult content. |
| Written by Jason Haugh | |
| Sunday, 07 September 2008 | |
I hesitantly entered a Cost Cutters Hair Salon to schedule an immediate appointment. "Can I help you sir?" The hair dresser behind the counter asked. She looked to be in her early thirties with dark black hair supporting red tips. She sported the obligatory black gown worn by all CC employees and had a dark unnatural tan. The name tag clipped sternly on her breast read 'Kari.'
"Uh yes," I replied, "I'd like a haircut please."
"Is there anybody you prefer to cut it?"
I scanned the salon briefly before replying, "No."
"This way please," she said leading me to an empty chair. I nervously sat down shifting my eyes from side to side uncomfortably as she draped a sheet over my body. "And how would you like it cut today?" She cheerfully asked.
I fought back a cringe before replying, "I'd like a #2 clip used on the back, an inch off the top, and half an inch off the banes. Oh and the top needs to be thinned out because I'm a bushy bastard." She grinned at my last comment and let out a small chuckle. Dammit! I wasn't supposed to make her smile! I wasn't supposed to be doing anything but sitting here and getting my hair cut. My heartbeat quickened as sweat moistened my skin. I used to actually enjoy getting haircuts. That was until about a month ago when Mark had ruined it for me at the Steak Buffet.
One Month Ago
"And then she threw the iron at me! Can you believe her!? And THAT Jeremy is how I got this scar above my eyebrow." The entire table busted up with laughter at the end of Mark's story. There were four of us: Mark, Jeremy, Chris, and myself.
"You know you totally deserved that Mark," I said taking a sip of cola.
"**** man if I was her I would've swung that **** around with the chord!" Chris yelled out attracting the attention of an elderly neighboring couple. "BAM! Man there goes three out of your five senses because I just took that ****!"
"Yeah you would sleep with me if you were a girl wouldn't you Crissy?" Mark threw a chunk of fat at Chris's head. "You guys shoulda seen him last night. I almost thought he was," Mark was interrupted when the bus boy came to gather our plates.
"Here you go man," Mark said placing a dollar on the table.
"Yeah thanks dude," Jeremy said doing the same. Chris followed suit and as the bus boy gathered up the dollar bills his eyes came to rest expectantly on me.
"Sorry dude," I said shrugging my shoulders. "I used all of my money to get in here. I do have a coupon for some soup in my wallet if you want it."
The server just shook his head stiffly saying, "No thanks." Turning to the others he added, "Hey guys thanks a lot. You'd be surprised at how many people don't tip around here."
During this seemingly gracious sentiment he had nodded in my direction invoking smiles of superiority from my friends who instantly followed his thanks with "Hey don't worry about it's" and "No problem man's" while I was left isolated at my corner of the table. I was fuming at my apparent lack of knowledge which seemed to portray me as cheap and undignified.
After he left with our plates I burst; fiercely whispering at Mark, "You didn't tell me they expected tips here!"
"What do you mean? I always tip here man." He said it like it was obvious, as if he had done it right in front of me over a hundred times.
"Not when I've been with you," I said accusingly.
"I tip everywhere it's expected of me Terry. I tip at restaurants, bars, and weddings. I tip the paperboy, the cab drivers, the hair dressers,"
"HAIR DRESSERS!" I unintentionally screamed. I could feel countless eyes weighing down my back. "Hair dressers," I repeated in an aggressive whisper. "I've never tipped a hair dresser."
"And that's why you're a douche bag Terry." Mark replied nonchalantly.
"Yeah Terry you're a dick," Chris said shoving a fork in his pocket.
"You mean you've never tipped a hair dresser? That's messed up man," Jeremy said fumbling with his glasses. "Chris stop stealing the cutlery. We're not all savages at this table."
I just sat there dumbfounded. How many times had I had a friendly conversation with these people? Despite being complete strangers I had shared jokes with the hair dressers, talked about future plans, and even learned about some uncomfortable details of their lives. And all the while these people were hoping for some kind of compensation from me. Some kind of miniscule economic boost to aide them in their financially destitute lives. Perhaps I was making too big a deal about this but I couldn't help but feeling that somehow I had failed these people. And until now hadn't even felt a single shred of remorse. Right then and there I made a promise to myself that the next hair dresser to cut me would be given ample compensation.
So here I am a month later, about to get my hair cut, and I barely have enough money to pay for it. And meanwhile this woman who through friendly smirks and pleasant conversation is expecting an extension on the total bill.
"God I hope I have at least one extra dollar to give this nice lady," I think as she shears the back of my head. When she's finished Kari begins to trim the top with her trusty comb and scissors.
All of a sudden a brilliant idea pops into my head. If I can just somehow make a seemingly unintentional movement without her anticipating it, I could get cut by the scissors! Then I can swear angrily responding to the pain and any idea of receiving a tip will be thrown out the window. Yes. This was a good idea.
"But how do I pull it off?" I wonder while she gently yanks my hair into the comb's teeth before beheading it with the shears. "I could pretend to sneeze or maybe jerk suddenly explaining to Kari that it's part of my 'condition.' But it's alright, no hard feelings." I decide on the sneeze believing it to be the easiest and more probable option. As she moves closer to my right side I make my move.
"Aaaaaaaaaccchhhhooooooo!!!!!!" I pseudo sneeze tilting my head to the left. Sending my arms towards my mouth in a wild arch they unexpectedly connect with the scissors driving the metal daggers into my face. The pain is sudden and more searing than I had expected.
"OH MY GOD!" Kari screams backing away in horror. I look into the mirror and see what everyone in the room is now staring at. Kari's scissors are lodged in my right cheek halfway up the hilt while the tip is buried in my tongue.
"Wha ded you do!?" I try to yell accusingly but find it difficult when the blood begins to flood into my mouth. While I attempt to speak I unintentionally spit blood across the floor and onto a classy woman's shoe. "EEEEEAAAAHHHH!!!" She shrieks bolting out of her chair and out the front doors.
"Somebody call an ambulance," a faint and distant voice demands. Cell phones are fired up and I hear about four different people barking for some paramedics. Meanwhile Kari is crying standing a few feet in front of me apologizing profusely.
"I am so sorry," she sobs, "I am so so sorry."
"Ith okay," I try to say inadvertently splattering her face with blood.
Her face clenches up as she holds back a scream, grabbing a towel to clean herself.
"An ambulance is on its way," a random hair dresser informs us. Panic surges through me and the realization instantly hits me that I.........have got........to go. No hospitals for this kid! Jumping out of the chair I make my way to Kari crashing through random arms attempting to restrain me.
"Haw moch do ah oh you," I spit out staining the counter.
"It's free," she cries out in shock. "You have to stay here though and go to the hospital!"
Pulling out my haircut money I firmly place it in her shaking hand. "Thith ith for you," I sputter before running for the exit.
The majority of the people in the room are still conscience enough to take a step back as I approach but those who are still too shocked induced receive a bloody hand to the chest and are thrown to the ground.
Once I'm clear of the store I rush out to my car as multitudes of customers gain an immediate interest on my current situation.
"What happened to him?" I hear while sprinting past a nuclear family.
"I think I'm going to throw up!" A pregnant woman says landing in her lover's arms as his mouth attempts to touch the ground.
I jump into the driver's seat and speed off catching a glimpse of the future mama emitting her unborn child's food onto the pavement. Reaching up I yank the scissors out of my face, cringing at the pain, and throw them to the floor. Once I'm parked I raise my hand and cover my cheek before jumping into the spotlight once again. There are a handful of families outside the complex recreationing but once I start approaching my upheavaled appearance is immediately noticed.
"What happened to you?" Mrs. Forester asks in amazement rushing towards me.
"Ma dentitht ith gatting old," I say quickly disappearing behind the door.
Safe and sound inside my apartment I'm finally given the chance to properly investigate my wound. Looking in the mirror is like watching a Dario Argento movie. My cheek is covered in blood with a large gash running down over an inch long. Gingerly I stick my finger through the cut and recoil from the pain. As I wiggle it in a bemusing way the thought that Kari may never be able to cut hair again surfaces.
"Tha pawr pawr gurl," I say to the mirror showering it with gore. My eyes follow the waving index finger up, past the blood soaked forehead, and onto my shabby head. "That's right," I think. "She was only able to complete half the job before I made her stab me."
After observing my hair, mending my wound, and pitying Kari, I lie down on the bed with a bag of ice to battle the impending swelling. As the ice begins to melt droplets of water soak through the bandage dripping onto my tongue.
"Ah prawbably shaldn't go thwimming far awhile," I say to the empty room showering my sheets. Oh well. At least she got her tip. The End. Copyright 2008 Jason Haugh |
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| Last Updated ( Friday, 12 September 2008 ) |
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