The Last Haircut
Well, Larry, you've given me your last haircut. It's nothing personal. You've never given me a bad haircut.
Okay, yeah, it's personal. And yeah, you've given me a bad haircut. Just today, actually.
I know, I know, any barber can have a bad day. I came in as you were reaching for the "Closed" sign, and obviously you had other things on your mind. I supspect this is the case because when you declared my haircut "done" my left sideburn was an inch longer than the right one, and the back of my neck looks like you handed the clippers to a farsighted, caffeinated chihuahua armed with a miniature weed whacker.
Let's be honest. The only reason I put up with your bigoted, homophobic, redneck diatribes is because you were the cheapest haircut in town. When I came in today, you pointed to the typing paper sign above the mirror and I learned that you'd raised your price: now your haircuts are no cheaper than those offered by your competition across the street. I don't fault the increase, but now I have no reason not to go to them, where most of the stylists are reasonably educated, gay, pierced, tattooed, or some combination thereof.
That's right, man: the very people you've been criticizing as I've sat in your barber chair, the ones with ink or hardware or same-gender partners that I've quietly defended to you for a couple years now, are the people that are going to get my business.
Later, dude, and good luck.
Okay, yeah, it's personal. And yeah, you've given me a bad haircut. Just today, actually.
I know, I know, any barber can have a bad day. I came in as you were reaching for the "Closed" sign, and obviously you had other things on your mind. I supspect this is the case because when you declared my haircut "done" my left sideburn was an inch longer than the right one, and the back of my neck looks like you handed the clippers to a farsighted, caffeinated chihuahua armed with a miniature weed whacker.
Let's be honest. The only reason I put up with your bigoted, homophobic, redneck diatribes is because you were the cheapest haircut in town. When I came in today, you pointed to the typing paper sign above the mirror and I learned that you'd raised your price: now your haircuts are no cheaper than those offered by your competition across the street. I don't fault the increase, but now I have no reason not to go to them, where most of the stylists are reasonably educated, gay, pierced, tattooed, or some combination thereof.
That's right, man: the very people you've been criticizing as I've sat in your barber chair, the ones with ink or hardware or same-gender partners that I've quietly defended to you for a couple years now, are the people that are going to get my business.
Later, dude, and good luck.
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Bye bye
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I know nothing about prices...
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