Icarus: I want a wide mohawk. I want the sides to be closely shaven up to here [points out a straight line that traces back from the temple], and I want you to take a little bit off the top, but not a lot - I like the basic length it has right now.
[His tone indicates that he has learned how to express exactly what he wants in no uncertain terms.]
Hairdresser: Ok, I understand. So you want it up to here --
Icarus: No. Higher. [He points again.]
Hairdresser: Right. And what will we do in the back - do you want to keep the mullet?
Icarus: Yes. I want to keep the mullet, and I want it to go flat across at the very bottom.
[Again with the confidence; last time he was able to bully the hairdresser into giving him exactly what he wanted.
She begins her work. Everything is going nicely until she gets around to the back, and in one, cliched, "fell swoop," shaves off the amount of mullet she wanted. ICARUS shoots her a dirty "What the shiz did you just do" look in the mirror.]
Hairdresser: It wouldn't be aesthetically pleasing the way you wanted.
[ICARUS fumes. He begins calculating percentages of good-to-bad haircuts he's gotten at this establishment, and realizes that, unfortunately, it is still in the establishment's favor. He will just have to be more careful to get the hairdressers who are younger and will kowtow to his wishes. Thankfully, he has another couple months before he has to fly across the sea. His hair will be back in a proper and beautiful mullet when he falls to Pellagic depths.]
Hairdresser [half to herself]: You have such beautiful skin. It turns red just as soon as I've passed by it!
Icarus [thought]: That's because the razor is burning hot, woman!
[She finishes. It ends up looking acceptable. He pays, and leaves. On the walk to the metro.]
Icarus [thought]: I'm totally going to blog about this. "I've traded my mullet for a caesar-fauxhawk-rat tail. It's the Cadillac of haircuts!"
10 months ago