--When I was fifteen or so, my Dad bought me an electric razor.This, of course, embarrassed me, because it was an
acknowledgment of things I didn’t want to talk about.Especially with my parents.You know, like hair growing in new places...
As mentioned before, I believe I came very close to dying of puberty, and was horrified enough with the daily
developments, the almost wholesale betrayal of my body.I didn’t need people walking up and handing me electric
“grooming” devices.I
really didn’t.
I’m sure I cycled through the full spectrum of red-based colors that
day, mumbled a weak thanks down the neck of my heat transfer Styx shirt, and got the hell out
of there.
But I did use the thing.Whenever
I needed to anyway, which was about once a week.I’d plug it in and knock away the peach fuzz that had formed
on my chin and cheeks, and hide it under the sink again, way back
behind the rolls of auxiliary rectum ribbon.I didn’t want my brother to see it, for some reason.
Over the next few years, however, I was forced to use it more and
more.I hated the way
things were going, but eventually I needed to break out that Norelco
every single day.It was a
sad turn of events.
And that’s the way it continued for a long time; I used the razor my
Dad gave me, and as far as I could tell, it did the trick.But then I started wondering…
Do people other than me, and old guys who fought in World War II, use
electric razors?It was
the same kind of social second-guessing that led to boxer shorts, and
My Summer of Scrotal Discomfort.
So I started buying shaving cream and disposable razors, because I
sensed it was what I should be doing.And boy did it suck.I
mean it was a whole production, with towels and sinks full of water…I’d have to lather up and spend the rest of the day smelling
like a koala bear…Plus,
the big ol’ John Boy mole on my left cheek was in a perpetual state
of irritation.
Finally I just said screw it, and went back to the tried and true.I bought a new electric razor, a more expensive model than the
original, and I’ve never looked back.I think this happened around the same time I told my boys to
come back into the house.
And that brings us up to Wednesday.
I knew it would be a waste of time, but I’d decided to go to a
so-called Job Fair.There
were a couple of companies participating that I’m interested in, so
it couldn’t hurt.Right?It was one of those deals where I knew if I didn’t go, I’d
be thinking, “What if?” for the next few weeks.And I can’t have that.
So after I finished my update, I started getting ready to go.I ironed a shirt and some fancy-pants, and went upstairs to
shave.It had been a
couple of days (hey, I’m unemployed), so I was mentally prepared for
an extended session.
I started with the right side of tiny Duke head, and it seemed like the
razor was laboring a bit; it was making noises I’d never heard
before, and cutting in and out.I
figured it was because I’d let myself go, and looked like I was
coming off a three-day drunk; I was probably just giving it a good
workout, with my hideousness.But
I stopped anyway, and broke the thing down.
After I finished cleaning it up real good, it worked much better.So I continued shaving – at least until I got to the halfway
point, when the whole thing shit the bed.I don’t know what happened, but it just stopped working.I messed around with it for upwards of ten minutes, but it
simply wouldn’t go anymore.
So here I was, ready to spend the afternoon hobnobbing with
prospective employers, with one side of my face shaved and the other
side looking like something off an old Bad Company album.I wondered if I could get away with just approaching the booths
at the job fair from a strategic angle, but quickly dismissed the
idea.
Grrrr…What the hell was
I going to do now?
I thought about heading over to Rite-Aid, and buying shaving cream and
some disposables, but my John-Boy mole vetoed the idea.After a few minutes of pacing and cursing, I decided to just
bite the bullet, and buy a new electric razor.Does Target sell crap like that?I didn’t know, but was going to find out.
People at the store were doing double-takes and bumping into end-caps
as I walked past them, but what do I care?I’ve got a lot of hang-ups, but that’s not one of them.I couldn’t give a single dingle what my fellow Target
shoppers think of me.
I had a hard time finding what I was looking for, but eventually
tracked them down.It had
been a long time since I’d bought a new razor, and wasn’t
completely sure how much they cost.For some reason I had fifty bucks in my head.And the first one I saw was $179.
Holy shit!I’d go
full-on Amish before I’d pay that much.
But thankfully, they had others in my pre-conceived price-range, so I
grabbed one that looked decent, and headed for the check-out.The cashier chuckled and said, “Looks like this is an
emergency?”I answered,
“What do you mean?” and never uttered another word to her.
As I was walking to my car I realized I was really hungry, and decided
to have a quick lunch at Subway, on the other side of the parking lot.
The corpulent sandwich engineer, with homemade tattoos on her hand,
sauntered over and asked what I wanted.I told her I’d have a foot-long turkey and ham on white, and
I’m almost certain she winked at me.The hell?!
Then I realized I had the classic rock half of my head facing in her
direction.So I performed
the switch, and turned the corporate side to her.She paused, blinked a couple of times, and said, “You want
cheese?”
The romance was over.
And in case you were wondering, I did finally make it to the job fair
-- and it was a complete waste of time.
--Before I call it a week
here, I’d like to direct you to two new Smoking Fish sightings, one
of which was inspired by an update earlier in the week.Check ‘em out, right here.
And I’ll leave you now with a Question.Toney works around high school-aged kids every day, and usually
comes home with a full docket of stories to tell.She talks about the cliques and the freaks and the geeks and the jocks, and I
guess nothing much changes through the decades...
Last night we were talking, and she asked me what kind of kid I was in
high school.I thought
about it for a couple of seconds, and told her I was rarely serious,
and had a smart-ass answer for every question.
She groaned like she knew the type all too well, and without actually
saying it, said, “Well, it’s a good thing we met later…”
So that’s my question:what
kind of kid were you in high school?And if it makes it any easier, which of the Breakfast
Clubcharacters was most like you?I was definitely Anthony Michael Hall.Oh, I was Anthony Michael Hall real good.
