Tuesday, August 02, 2005 Rest easy, knowing the truth
My job is probably the most fun job available to a human being and all, but sometimes people come in and get so excercised about their low, low-priced haircuts that I can't relate to anything they've ever experienced or felt.
Today a woman came in, dragging an unresponsive husband-figure, looking for an appointment. I asked him what his name was so I could write it in my book, and he and his wife were completely non-plussed. Finally, he was able to tell me his name, and even spelled it, which I thought was an unnesscessary flourish. I don't think anyone had addressed that man directly in years.
Anyway, he had a haircut, and I didn't really get too emotionally involved in the process. I rang him up and he and his wife left. Twenty minutes later, she was back, as I knew she would be. There wasn't anything particularly wrong with the haircut, but I used my preternatural powers of reception to diagnose her as a monster. She refused to come into the shop to make her greivance. Instead, she stood on the stoop, holding the door open, letting all the damn cold air out. I let her do that for a while, until she began to make more and more agitated noises and motioned me over by quirking her index finger at me. Menials love finger gestures. It is the only language we speak. I am so glad I am not an alpha.
She told me a long story, in the first person, about a terrible woman who was upset with a haircut and enjoyed swearing. Then she dropped the door on me. "Ooh!" she said, by way of apology.
She eventually dragged her husband back in. I imagine she'd tethered him in the shade before, with a small bowl of lukewarm tap water and a rawhide chewie. She made further complaints about the haircut. "I'm not usually a bitch," she said. "But I am going to be a bitch right now."
I knew a secret that she didn't know, and I'll share it with you now like it was the Neiman Marcus cookie recipe: that woman is usually a bitch. She's a bitch on the tennis court, a bitch at Ann Taylor Loft, a bitch when she's getting botoxed, and a bitch when she snores and thrashes under her maribou sleep mask. She is a bitch when she excuses herself to powder her nose, a bitch when she is driving her monstrous SUV, a bitch to the maid, and a bitch at the PTA. She is a bitch when she finds a carb in her soup, and a bitch when she cries alone at night as her log-like husband slumbers in one of the guest rooms because her snoring keeps him awake. She is a bitch at thousand dollar a plate dinners, a bitch at the dog groomers. She is a total fucking bitch to the au pair.
She may not, in her heart, realize what her vocation is, but that only means that she needs to self-actualize and understand the full nature of her soul, which is the soul of a full-time 24/7 bitch.
Anyway, I gave her her 'leven dollars back, and finally, justice was served. posted by Frenz | 8/02/2005 10:21:00 PM
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