Hello again, dear readers!
Today was my husband's first day at work. Technically, it was training for his job, but it still counts as work because he was getting paid for it. They had to meet at a Sears store at the mall close by my former apartment and where the company's office is, and from there, my husband and a few colleagues spent the four hours alotted for their time learning how to use the scanning equipment, filling out some paperwork, and practicing taking inventory for the store. My husband was miffed about using a scanner that ran a Windows program (being a die-hard Linux penguinista, he views anything having to do with Microsoft as being the spawn of Satan), but managed to behave himself. He said it was an overall positive experience.
Before leaving, however, my husband had worked himself up into a fury over his new haircut. Since he basically kept his hat on from the time we left the barber shop, my husband didn't see that the hairdresser butchered his haircut until about an hour before he had to report for work. Instead of doing a Caesar cut like he asked, she gave him an uneven mop crop. This after he described to her exactly what he wanted, even giving her an idea by pointing out a style on one of the other customers there.
Combed out, it was apparent where she'd messed up. My husband was furious, but refused my offers to trim his bangs and some of the gross unevenness so as to bring about the appearance of balance. He blamed her not knowing how to cut hair on anyone who wasn't Mexican, as there are differences in hair type between the races. He claimed that his cousin thirty years ago did a better job using a bowl and some kitchen shears. Not wanting him to be late or do something stupid, I told him to put his hat on and say he was having a bad hair day until we could find another barber. Fortunately, when he got home, my husband reported that his colleagues and superiors didn't mind his chop-job haircut. So long as it was short, they didn't care.
Having survived the first day, he goes back tomorrow for a few hours to finish up training. Since it'll be for a shorter period of time, I can come with him and hang out in the mall with the baby for a bit. Having frequented this mall in my old bourgeois life, I have nothing to fear about showing up. Consumerama, here I come.
Today was my husband's first day at work. Technically, it was training for his job, but it still counts as work because he was getting paid for it. They had to meet at a Sears store at the mall close by my former apartment and where the company's office is, and from there, my husband and a few colleagues spent the four hours alotted for their time learning how to use the scanning equipment, filling out some paperwork, and practicing taking inventory for the store. My husband was miffed about using a scanner that ran a Windows program (being a die-hard Linux penguinista, he views anything having to do with Microsoft as being the spawn of Satan), but managed to behave himself. He said it was an overall positive experience.
Before leaving, however, my husband had worked himself up into a fury over his new haircut. Since he basically kept his hat on from the time we left the barber shop, my husband didn't see that the hairdresser butchered his haircut until about an hour before he had to report for work. Instead of doing a Caesar cut like he asked, she gave him an uneven mop crop. This after he described to her exactly what he wanted, even giving her an idea by pointing out a style on one of the other customers there.
 |
| Not a Caesar cut. The pomps of Rod Blagojevich and Justin Bieber mated and pooped this monstrosity out on my husband's head |
Combed out, it was apparent where she'd messed up. My husband was furious, but refused my offers to trim his bangs and some of the gross unevenness so as to bring about the appearance of balance. He blamed her not knowing how to cut hair on anyone who wasn't Mexican, as there are differences in hair type between the races. He claimed that his cousin thirty years ago did a better job using a bowl and some kitchen shears. Not wanting him to be late or do something stupid, I told him to put his hat on and say he was having a bad hair day until we could find another barber. Fortunately, when he got home, my husband reported that his colleagues and superiors didn't mind his chop-job haircut. So long as it was short, they didn't care.
Having survived the first day, he goes back tomorrow for a few hours to finish up training. Since it'll be for a shorter period of time, I can come with him and hang out in the mall with the baby for a bit. Having frequented this mall in my old bourgeois life, I have nothing to fear about showing up. Consumerama, here I come.
No comments:
Post a Comment