Daring to Enter Supercuts?
Is "Supercuts" an appropriate name for an establishment that makes use of dangerous weapons? By dangerous weapons, I'm leaning towards those rather dull scissors laying open on the counter next to the toxic spray bottle. Observe any entry-level hair wizard, and you will likely find an array of health code violations. If I'm sounding a bit angry, I don't mean to be. I'm more on the scale of looking out for mankind..... the kind that likes a good haircut.
Why am I picking on Supercuts? After all, no one jostled me to the ground and pulled me into Supercuts flailing and screaming. I was in need of a trim. I saw their deceptively friendly sign, and thought, what's the worst that could happen? I was about to find out. I pulled into the dimly lit plaza, and there it was, between the check cashing store and Umberto's fish fry. It looked harmless enough. I peaked in. The children cutting hair....... errr, I mean, the stylists, seemed like they knew what they were doing. Before I could adjust my sanity, a teen voice called for me to come have a seat in her chair. I could have ran. I should have ran. There really are no excuses. I helplessly plopped down into the chair as she sprayed down my wild curly hair. She then asked what did I need to be done? A trick question of sorts, but I fell for the melodic Brooklyn accent.
These desperate times have lead me to taking chances for the pursuit of saving a buck. Was it worth it? Ummm, the various patches and uneven bangs prove otherwise. Making ends meet these days is becoming a juggling act. A desperate need to keep funds available for my extravagant purchase of Starbucks, I imagine. The fat from our budgets definitely needs to be extracted, but at what cost? I honestly try not to be vain, but hair is an important commodity. The truly shallow and self-centered will tell you this.
I suppose an argument can be made that carpooling to the Supercuts near you will be good for the economy. There are those that would dare say, there are more important things to gripe about besides hair. Oh well. Buckle up friends, you're in for a bumpy ride.