Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow

I think it's safe to say there is nothing "super" about Supercuts, but in these downmarket times you do what you have to do and yesterday I needed a haircut.

I suppose it could be worse - I could have the boyfriend cut my hair with a Flobee. It doesn't really matter. The shame and humiliation is usually fleeting since I've never spend more than ten minutes there and they usually get me out in around 5. It shows, of course, but I'm blessed with fast growing hair and within a week you won't even be able to make out all the nicks. Plus, the price is right.

The one I go to has a staff of mostly women, evenly split between thirty-something burnouts and younger rockabilly goth girls who'd rather not be there. There is one guy who works there who skews towards being queeny. In the two years I've lived here, he's the only obviously gay guy I've seen.

For a few bucks more, you can make an appointment with a particular "stylist", but I just go with the luck of the draw because, really, it doesn't matter.

I was assigned one of the goth girls and took my seat. We attempted some small talk for the first minute or so, but neither of us cared enough to keep it going and we soldiered on in silence for the rest of the cut.

About halfway through, at around the three minute mark, a large, hulking shape darkened the door and in walked a mean looking "Sons of Anarchy" biker wannabe. He announced to no one in particular he was there for a haircut and the receptionist took his name.

This was Darryl. Darryl was massive. And seemed a little angry.

It evidently wasn't the gay guy's day, since he was next up to bat and assigned Darryl. He looked scared.

He introduced himself to the biker as Bryan. I'm guessing it's with a "y"; gay Bryans are always with a "y".

He led Darryl back to the chair next to mine and as he dropped into the seat I thought I felt the floor shake. Darryl said this was his first time at Supercuts and Bryan gamely asked where he usually got his hair cut. Darryl mentioned a barbershop in a dodgy part of town and mentioned that his regular barber was unavailable...

"Doing 60 days for beating his old lady."

I noticed that Bryan had stopped making eye contact and was just staring at the floor. He asked Darryl how he wanted his haircut and Darryl said he wanted it short.

"As short as you can get it without showing my Bosley scars... if you can see the scars after your done, I'm going to be really pissed off. REALLY pissed off..."

A biker with hair plugs. There's something you don't see every day.

Mean, vain and stupid is no way to go through life, especially for those of us who will be described as "innocent bystanders" on the local news when the inevitable happens. Just in the nick (no pun intended) of time, Goth Girl announced that I was done. I hustled to pay and get the hell out of there. Just as I was leaving, I heard Bryan say "...oops"

I didn't look back. I've said it before, but in Bako you never look back.

I hope Bryan's OK. He seemed nice enough.

Party In The Back

I just returned from my favorite hair salon, SuperCuts.

And extremely attractive kid, with a full mane of hair walked in.

His name was Kyle, and as they walked him back to a chair they asked him what he wanted.

"Mullet".

And he wasn't kidding.

Never in a million years did I ever picture myself living somewhere where not only was a mullet not ridiculed, it was desirable.

The Clothes Make The Man

Evidently God was looking down from Heaven, noticed I had one small shred of dignity left and decided in His Divine Wisdom that the time had come to snuff that out too.

I was sitting in my sweatbox "office" yesterday afternoon, minding my own business, surfing the web, when the burly office manager stopped by with an armful of company polo shirts.

"Boss wants you to wear these" he grunted as he dumped them on my desk.

When I was offered the job I was told I would be "management" and wouldn't have to wear the idiotic company "uniform". Now I've apparently been demoted without even receiving my first paycheck.

So here I sit this morning in my tent like polo. They aren't much for tailoring here and the closest they could find to my size was 2XL. That's considered a "large" for Bakersfield. I guess when I leave here, soon I hope, I can always use them for car covers.

I feel like an idiot.

My will has been crushed.

I look like I work at Jiffy Lube.

Or Lady Footlocker.

It's just as well this office is a sauna. I'm sweating so much nobody will notice the tears.

Doo's And Don’ts

And now a word about the Ladies of Bakersfield.

It doesn't take long before you realize there is a signature "look" for the women of Bako. I'm not talking about fashion, because there's really not much to say about that. "Ready-to-Wear" Bako style usually involves a track suit. "Evening Wear" consists of a Brad Paisley concert tee that's been run through a Bedazzler©.

No, today we're talking about hairstyles. And while the hairstyles here run the gamut of everything you could possibly find at SuperCuts or Fantastic Sam's, there's one style that rises head and shoulders above the rest. One style that is so ubiquitous it is obviously the clear favorite among the Real Housewives of Bako.

I'm talking about the "BakerDoo".

At least that's what the boyfriend and I have named it.

You start with a bad bob, usually unintentionally asymmetrical. And then you pile up a huge dome of hair at the back, like an overcooked Jiffy Pop popper. Over process the whole mess and then top it off with prison stripe highlights. And Voila!, the BakerDoo.

Seriously, on what planet does anyone think this looks good?

And yet you see it here everywhere.

Truth be told, the highlight craze isn't limited to the Bakerdoo. There is absolutely no cut here that can't be embellished with a bold stripe or two. Or three. Go to the mall and it looks like a wild herd of zebras has been let loose.

I really just don't get it. It's not like they don't have access to the real world here. They have television. They have the internet. It's not like they can't see there are other options. But that's Bako... marching to a different drummer. And a badly coiffed one at that.

Makes you want to just curl up and dye.