A Hairdresser vs. Garrison's Autism: You Can't Spell Hairdresser without the Letters HR

 

Incelbordination, Chapter 20

Oswald Crow hated the man he saw in the mirror. He could forgive the fact that he had to stand on a footstool to see that image. He could forgive his own inability to attract women (despite his latest crush being married). He could forgive the idea that he’d caused all of his own worst problems. But the part that really made him stare bullets into the mirror…was his hair and his beard. He stroked his long, greasy locks with so much force that he damned near pulled out the follicles. He gripped his shaggy beard like he was making a fist, as if the thought of punching himself in the face was his greatest idea yet.

“No more…no more of this garbage…” he said with a menacing scowl. He gingerly stepped down from the footstool and put his medical boot back on. Walking had gotten a hell of a lot easier since his (hopefully) final encounter with Antero. He didn’t limp nearly as much and his speed had picked up just a little bit. All that was left was for him to find a better shirt to wear and out on the town he would go. How about Dark Side of the Moon T-shirt with prism, rainbow, and all?

When Oswald went for his trek downtown, he still played it safe and walked at a tender pace. Any residual pain he suffered in his foot was downplayed by one long glance around the misty city. A terrorist attack happened not too long ago and people still carried on with their daily lives. Some still shook with fear. Some still had the color drained from their faces. Some even shed a few tears. But even with all of this latent fear, Valerie’s prophecy came true: life went on. Oswald expected the results to be no different when he entered Two Bits Barber Shop.

But even for customer service standards, the barbers looked somewhat happy, just minding their own business and accumulating a pile of hair on the ground like nothing had happened. The blond lady at the service desk smiled a warm smile down at Oswald and asked, “Can I help you?”

“Do you take walk-ins?”

“We sure do. In fact, we have an opening right now if you’re ready.”

“Cool.”

“Can I get your name, please?”

“Oswald Crow.” He said his name with slight trepidation, as if it was as blasphemous to say as Jesus fucking Christ in a crowded mega church. But it turned out his name held no such weight in this strange barber shop. He wasn’t as big of a villain as he imagined himself to be.

He breathed a sigh of relief as the woman penciled his name in her schedule and never lost her happy expression. “Alright, Oswald, looks like I’ll be taking care of you today. My name is Callie. Do you need any help getting set up?”

“Nah, I’ve got this,” he said as he struggled to get into the barber’s chair. There were a few instances where he slipped and slid, much to the head shaking, hands-on-hips chagrin of Callie. She grabbed him by the hand and lifted him into the chair with minimal effort. “Guess I needed help after all.”

“You really shouldn’t be shy about accepting help from others. It’s what brings us all together,” said Callie while running her fingers through Oswald’s hair. “So what are we doing today?”

The little guy really didn’t think this one through. What would he look good with? A Mohawk? A high fade? A bald head? All he could muster up was a long, “Uh” and this got a giggle from Callie. She said, “How about if I surprise you with something? I think you’re going to like what I have in mind.”

Shrugging his shoulders, Oswald said, “Sure, why not?”

With that Callie got right to work on Oz-Man’s new hairstyle. Lots of spraying, lots of buzz-cutting, and lots of scissor snipping. There was enough hair on the ground to create another Oswald Crow and two Burmese kitties.

“So what do you do for a living?” asked Callie.

“I’m unemployed.”

“Oh,” said Callie with a twisted mouth and shifting eyes. “Okay.”

“I take that back. I’m a sex surrogate at a funeral home.”

The barber made a flat tire noise and shook her head at the joke. “See, that would have been a better response than saying you’re unemployed.”

“But it’s a lie.”

“Of course it was. I don’t think anybody here would willingly believe you get paid to do…that. The important thing here is that you have a sense of humor about it. Employers like that kind of thing. Granted, I wouldn’t use that particular joke, but you get the idea.”

“I don’t even know what I’m going to do once I get out of college.”

“Wait a minute, you’re in college? Why didn’t you say that when I asked you what you did for a living?”

“Because I don’t get paid for it. I’m the one making all the payments here.”

Patting Oz-Man’s shoulders, Callie said, “Listen, you don’t have to get paid in order to call something your profession. It could be something as simple as a hobby like building things or writing stories or carving soap.”

“Or sitting on my ass watching television.”

Callie let out a hearty laugh and struggled to compose herself. “Wow. You are something else, Oswald. On second thought, maybe being your delightful self is just what you need to land a job.”

He smiled, “I’m not as delightful as you think.”

“Oh really? Is that how you scared me off just now?” The little man didn’t have an answer for that except for a small sigh. “The fact that you’re willing to come in here and get a nice haircut shows me you care at least just a little bit what the world thinks of you.”

“Maybe I don’t care enough.”

“That’s something you need to find a balance with. You should care just enough to get your foot in the door and just little enough that you don’t lose yourself along the way. It takes work, but as a college student, you’re more than ready for it. I know it.”

Oswald kept quiet the rest of the time he was getting his haircut. Hating small talk aside, he didn’t want to get pieces of his locks in his mouth. He may have spit out a few strands here and there. But before he knew it, Oswald truly was a new man underneath all of that Wookie fur. The top of his head had short spikes, he had a low fade just underneath, and his beard was just short enough to not resemble an African jungle. The next time he looked in the mirror, he felt less and less like punching himself in the face. He ran his fingers through his remaining hair and said in a soft voice, “I look good.”

“You sure do,” said Callie with her sweet smile. “But we’re not done yet.”

As the barber walked away, a much taller presence in the form of a longhaired young man approached Oswald from the rear. At first the little guy swallowed a lump in his throat, thinking this guy was going to crush him with his massive hands. But instead the man with Damian on his nametag gently squeezed the tension out of Oswald’s shoulders and scalp. All the injuries, the bruises, and the cuts he received throughout his journey melted away from him like butter on popcorn. He could have transformed into a puddle right there on the chair.

No small talk, no frills, no gimmicks of any kind, just a gentle massage Oswald never knew he needed until then. He closed his eyes and allowed his healing mind to take him to faraway places. Tingles washed over his upper body. And then Damian grabbed little Oz-Man by the jaw and quickly twisted his neck in both directions. The crunching and popping noises echoed throughout the barbershop and managed to get a few stares from the customers. Oswald shook his jowls at the one second pain, but immediately relaxed again. “It’s been a while since I’ve had a massage and an adjustment.”

A smile etched on Damian’s pale face. “You should get them more often. It’s not unheard of for customers to come in here just for the massage.”

“Really?” Damian nodded. It took every ounce of strength in Oz-Man’s body (and assistance from Damian) to help himself down. He thought this could be a new treatment option for his mental illnesses, even if it only provided temporary relief. Maybe if he did it long enough…

He snapped back to reality when Callie ran his bill up for him. “That’ll be twenty dollars even.” Oswald pulled his wallet out and gave his barber and massage therapist an extra fifteen, but Callie waved the overpayment away. “We don’t accept tips here. We’re unionized, so we get paid well.”

“No kidding?”

“No kidding. Just the twenty dollars will do. Plus, you’re going to need that extra fifteen dollars for Jessica Bradley’s roses.”

Oswald’s eyes widened. She knew about that? His name was public knowledge and she didn’t let on the entire time? Was he really a big celebrity? Or a social pariah? What the hell was going on?

“Have a nice day!” said Callie as she and Damian waved at him with smiles on their faces. Oswald left the twenty dollar bill on the counter and hightailed it out of there.

Barber Talk

Pete Silva didn’t just have a fuzzy head of hair; he had a national forest. It was hanging in his eyes, his ears, and sometimes his mouth. It wouldn’t be surprising to anyone if squirrels and chipmunks actually lived in that dandruff infested scalp of his. Getting his hair chopped off was the easy part. Maintaining a conversation with his hairstylist required social skills he didn’t want nor possess. All this talk about useless shit that didn’t matter in the end left Pete feeling exhausted afterwards. Just buzz my damn hair and get on with the show, he said in his mind.

It seemed as though every barber or hairstylist establishment he went to had an all extrovert policy. Just yack, yack, yack, all the time. When he waddled his heavy ass into The Men’s Club, he could tell right away it was going to be more of the same. Every hairstylist was busy cutting hair and they were all motor-mouthing at one hundred miles per hour. “Oh, shit,” Pete said softly to himself.

He considered turning around and getting his haircut somewhere else when a girl with a cutesy voice said, “Hi! Are you Pete Silva?” He just had to make an appointment didn’t he? The voice belonged to a petite woman with long blond hair with pink streaks in it. Her black tank top and black pants looked cute on her, but Pete clearly didn’t come here for a date. The pink-haired woman said, “I’m Natalie Altar and I’ll be taking care of you tonight. So what kind of haircut are we doing today?”

“Uh…uh, just a buzz cut with half an inch of hair all around,” said Pete in his usual flat affect voice. Natalie summoned him to her station with a wave of her finger and sure enough, all three hundred plus pounds of Pete Silva came crashing down in the plush barber’s chair. Natalie jumped backwards at the sudden plop, but shook her head no dismissively and wrapped the obligatory cape around her client.

As soon as the hairstylist pulled out the shears, the obligatory chitchat began. “So what do you do for a living, Pete?”

There was never an easy way for the shaggy-haired client to answer this question. As long as this woman was going to make him feel awkward, he was going to do the same with her. “I’m unemployed,” he said in an Eeyore voice.

Natalie was just about to turn the clippers on and then froze while darting her eyes from side to side at the nonchalant response. “Okay, um…okay!” She turned them on and wasted little time in trimming Pete’s wheat field of hair. She let out little nervous giggles as she tried to figure out what to ask this gentleman next. “So, what do you like to do for fun?”

Pete Silva remained stoic and nonchalant when he said, “Stuff.” When he was asked what kind of “stuff”, Pete said, “The usual stuff.”

Once again Natalie Altar’s eyes darted from place to place and she could see other hairstylists and customers staring at her and Pete. She tried to speed up her shaving motion to end this conversation as quickly as possible, but she pulled one of his hairs and Pete let out a grizzly bear roar of pain. “Sorry!” Natalie said as she held her face in her free hand in embarrassment.

There was silence between client and hairstylist for just a little while, but already, Pete’s head was looking a lot cleaner and more comfortable. Natalie then made the mistake of asking yet another foolish question: “So, have you lived in Paulson City all of your life?” As soon as she got the world’s most bored “No,” response, she could have let it go right there. Instead, she asked, “Where are you from?” In the same unexcited tone, Pete Silva said, “Here!”

Natalie let out a sigh and hung her head as she continued to shave Pete’s. Before she knew it, the awkward conversation and the job itself was finished. Pete Silva looked like a new man with a clean scalp and the remains of his hair circled around his feet like a puppy warming his toes.

Letting the awkwardness dissolve into thin air was probably the wisest move that could be made. But yet again, Natalie couldn’t leave well enough alone. She rested her arm on the barber’s chair and looked at Pete through the mirror judgingly before saying, “It’s all done, Mr. Silva. Although, if I could say one thing…you really…really…really need to work on your social skills.”

“What’s wrong with my social skills?” asked Pete in the same medicated tone he’d been using since he entered The Men’s Club.

“Well, it’s not so much the fact that you don’t care about this conversation; it’s how you said the things you said. For example, you didn’t have to tell me that you were unemployed. You could have said that you were looking for work or that you were in between jobs,” said Natalie.

“But I’m not looking for work,” explained Pete. “Every time I apply somewhere, the supervisor is too much of a cheap bastard to hire me.”

Natalie’s eyes shot up and her jaw dropped to the ground. “Wow, Pete! You think your social skills or lack thereof might have something to do with you being unemployed?”

Pete shrugged his chubby shoulders and said, “Why should they? I didn’t apply for customer service.”

“Yes, but you still have to make a good impression in the job interview! If you talk to your supervisor the way you talked to me tonight, nobody’s going to hire you!” said Natalie with flying hand gestures. Pete used the sides of the chair to help himself to his feet and started to walk away. “Hey, where’re you going? You haven’t paid your bill yet!”

Pete turned around and shoved his sausage finger in Natalie’s face as he said, “Hey, listen, jerk! Maybe the reason I didn’t give you the answers you wanted tonight was because I don’t like having meaningless conversations! You stand there and you ask a bunch of pointless questions about my economic status and you’re never satisfied with the answers! Well, not everybody who comes in here enjoys yakking about stupid bullshit! Why don’t you talk about something I’m actually interested in!”

“You never told me what you were interested in! You just said, ‘The usual stuff!’” said Natalie, the last part being a mockery of Pete’s bass voice.

“That’s because nobody else in this fucking city shares my goddamn values! Do you know of anyone else here who watches wrestling and plays Dungeons & Dragons? No, because those people don’t exist here! I didn’t have any friends in college and I don’t have any friends now! So unless you know somebody who shares the same shit that I do, then that’s how it’s going to stay for a long, long time!” shouted Pete, attracting the watching eyes of hairstylists and customers alike.

“So is that what it takes for somebody to be your friend? They have to like the same things you do? But that’s not what friendship is about! It’s about opening your mind to different things! You think all of my friends are into dance music and reality shows? No, they’re not! But they’re still my friends because I allow them to be! You need to open up every once and a while! Maybe if you told me more about your passions, I would have listened! But instead you kept giving me these lame answers!” screamed Natalie.

The shouting match was turned up to maximum volume when Pete stuck his chubby jowls into Natalie’s heart shaped face and yelled, “You want to know what I used to do for a living?! Huh?! I was a janitor!” Natalie shrugged her shoulders in a half-scared, half-confused manner. She was definitely backing off and quaking in her sandals after that outburst. Pete explained, “I was a janitor at a porn theater! I cleaned up stuff that would make everyone in this room barf all over the floor!” While he didn’t get barf, one customer gagged.

Pete breathed heavily in and out while Natalie’s eyes along with everyone else’s were wide in horror. He said in a lower and calmer voice, “Here’s the deal. I don’t know how to work a cash box and I don’t know how to cut hair. I majored in psychology when I was going to college, so that means I have even less skills. But if you’re so interested in teaching me about social skills, making friends, and having a good job, maybe YOU should hire me. I’m sure there’s something here I can do. Otherwise, I have no problem with living off weekly checks from my mom.”

Natalie sighed and held her forehead in her hand while contemplating everything Pete said. She breathed deeply in and out to stave off nervousness and then opened her eyes again to give Pete the verdict. “Here’s what I’m willing to do,” she said in a calm voice, much like Pete’s. “You said you were a janitor at…that place before you lost your job.” She tried not to say “porn theater” since those two words together made her shiver. “There’s a broom and a dustpan in the back closet. If you agree to sweep the floors tonight, I will take you to a fast food restaurant of your choice and…pay for your meal.”

Pete smiled for the first time since arriving and looked around at the hairy tiled floor. “That’s a lot of hair,” he said in his best Captain Obvious voice.

“It is,” said Natalie. “That means you’re getting a super-sized meal tonight. And if you do a good enough job, maybe this will turn into a full-time thing. And when it does, you and I are going to be opening up to each other a lot more. So what do you say? Does this sound good to you or not?”

Pete took a moment to consider the deal and nodded in agreement. “Let’s do this.”

“Oh, and one more thing,” said Natalie. “If this ends up becoming an actual job, don’t tell people you sweep up hair for a living. You could just say, ‘I work at The Men’s Club’. I mean, when you worked at…that place before here…did you seriously tell people you were mopping up…you know…?”

“What?” Pete asked. “You mean dude nectar?”

Natalie screamed in disgust while covering her ears and saying, “La-la-la!” over and over again. The patrons and other hairstylists on the other hand were laughing their asses off. One of the male clients said, “He’s a keeper!”