‘Twas a warm spring evening and I found myself at a now defunct Midtown Atlanta bar with one of my friends from college, Amy. Her brother was a manager at this joint, so we’d often hang out there when she was in town (she lives in Arizona now for some odd reason).
This particular evening, it was getting near closing time and I was standing by the bar talking with the bartender. Amy had gone upstairs for something or other and there were a few folks scattered about the bar area, most notably a girl and her boyfriend/date/whatever. When Amy came back down the stairs, this girl stepped over to me and said something which took me completely by surprise.
“I bet you think your hair looks good. I think it looks like shit.”
As you can imagine, I was taken aback by this. For one, I always regarded my hair as one of my strong points. And two, even if you didn’t like my hair, why go out of your way to point it out to me? I asked her to repeat herself just to make sure I heard her right.
“I said, I think your hair looks like shit.”
I heard her right. Nine times out of ten, especially while drinking, I’d just say that I was sorry she felt that way and tell her to go away, but on this particular night I was feeling saucy so I decided to engage her.
“I guess I’m sorry you don’t like my hair, I tend to think it’s pretty cool. What don’t you like about it?”
“Well, first off, I don’t like the wings on the sides, this isn’t the 70′s. Secondly, it’s too long in the front.”
She was being condescending as hell, but she honestly wanted to discuss my hair. If there’s ever a lull in the conversation with me, just bring up my hair or South Park. Either way, I was making progress with this girl.
“I like the vintage styling. I don’t know if you noticed by the proper fitment of my jeans, but I’m not a hipster. What would you prefer I did with it?”
“I’m a hairdresser and you couldn’t afford my advice.”
Wait a second here. This girl is being condescending and now she’s presuming that I can’t afford her services? Is she an escort? Does she sell golden weave? Still I kept my cool and let this play out a bit more.
“What makes you think I can’t afford your styling services? I’m at a rather upscale bar, I’m drinking top-shelf liquor, and I’m with an extremely attractive woman. Those are not poor man credentials. You’re presuming an awful lot here.”
I guess her boyfriend or whatever had notice that the timbre of our conversation was increasing, so he stepped in and said that she was just drunk and apologized. I responded that everything was fine and that “I got this.”
Her mood towards me softened somewhat and she told me that she was a hair dresser at this upscale salon called “Helmet.” (A poor name choice if you ask me.) She asked me what I did for a living and I told her I was Territory Salesman for a tire distributor. She asked for one of my business cards and I gave her one. Then I asked for one of hers.
“I don’t have any.”
“What? How can you not have business cards?”
I then went into an explanation of how terrible a salesperson she was.
“First off, you insulted a potential customer’s hair. You could have had a field day working magic on these glorious locks. Second, you presumed to tell me that I couldn’t afford your services anyway, based on absolutely nothing. And lastly, you don’t even have business cards. For all I know, you could be the head hair washer at Supercuts at the mall.”
I hate sales, but I understand it, and just to further enforce my point I talked to her about the tires on her car. I knew what size they were, what originally came on it, and what her replacement options were. For some reason, this impressed her. She apologized for being a jackass and even offered me a free haircut at the salon she worked at. I never used it, because I had no idea where the place was located, and I certainly wasn’t gonna go hunting around for some salon where I’d probably end up with a haircut looking like Duckie from Pretty in Pink.
I happened to be driving home from work this past week and I noticed a sign for a salon called “Helmet.” It was right down the street from my house the whole time. I thought about stopping in and seeing if the girl still worked there, I had her name and number in my wallet, but I decided against it. They probably fired her anyway.
Helmet sounds like the horrible salon where Nancy Grace gets her hair done.