by tom ewart

Bad Hair Day

Charlene, you just aren’t gonna believe what I saw in the mall today. Yeah, I was there window shopping, on my lunch break from Raphael’s, when --. Oh, yeah, it’s a great place to work; it sure beats my last job at the Hair Circus. Why, Mister Paul wouldn’t let me do anything there except henna rinses and trim bangs. To hell with that. Raphael tells me "Marjorie, indulge your creative impulses." So now I’m working out a new line of sidewall shavings. Come in sometime, and I’ll give you a Celtic cross. The buzz is they’re gonna be the rage this season.

Anyway, like I was saying, I had just turned toward the food court, thinking maybe I’d get a yogurt, when I saw them. They were all traipsing down the middle of the mall, herded along by their workers. Who? Why, those people from that home up the street, the one for the retards and such. You know the place, don’cha? Well, they plopped themselves down on those benches near the fountain, and I almost swallowed by gum when I took a good look at them.

Have you ever really paid attention to their haircuts, Charlene? God, they are so medieval! Every single one of them looks like somebody turned a bowl over on their heads and cut off all the hair that hung below the edge. You know what I mean? Now, that would be bad enough, but the edges aren’t even smooth; it’s like somebody kept jiggling the bowl the whole time. It’s just awful. And of course, no one thinks to do anything with what’s left, so that what’s left is hanks of hair sticking out every which way. They’re such a mess!

It’s a shame, really. I mean, these people have enough problems as it is, what with the drooling and the spasms and all. The last thing they need is to also go around looking like some failed experiment on a Barbie Cut-N-Gro.

Who do you suppose gives them these bad haircuts, anyway? What? No, I don’t think they do it themselves. Charlene, think for a minute; you’ve seen them. Most of them twitch so much, they couldn’t hold the scissors without gouging out an eye. Get real, girl.

I’ll tell you, the people who do them should lose their licenses, it’s so bad. Why it’s a disgrace to our profession, don’t you think? If I was in charge, I wouldn’t put up with it.

Ooh, I gotta tell you! Raphael got this new guy in, Miguel, from Brazil. He does piercings and mutilations, and he’s so good at his work. He gave me a new piercing, a stud above my upper lip, wait’ll you see it! Yeah, neat, hunh? I’m thinking of a branding, something delicate on one cheek. No, not that cheek, Charlene; on my face. What do you think?

about tom ewart:

"Tom Ewart is originally from Richmond, Virginia; he has spent the last thirty years here as a stranger in a strange land. Married with two children, he has a day job that supports his habits. He is fifty-five years old enough to know better, and generally doesn’t, which is why he writes."

Tom Ewart read his work at the Folk 'n' Word Festival, Oct. 10, 1999, at the Green Rooster Coffeehouse, 6 Institute Road, Worcester, Mass.

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