The 2-for-1 Haircut
- Wednesday, November 26, 2003
A few months ago we loaded up Jedd's Geo GL (which we think stands for Gullible Losers) and headed for our sister church up in North Dakota, the Church of the Frozen Tundra. This isn't its real name, of course, but we gave it this moniker after our first couple of visits there because (1) North Dakota has tundra, and (2) much of said tundra is frozen (as are many other things in North Dakota).
We always look forward to visiting COFT and speaking to the congregation there. They seem to like us, probably because they have to put up with us only once or twice a year. Also, North Dakota is cool. Its capital is Bismarck, making it the only state in the Union with a capital named after a pastry.
As we drove, we discussed topics we might share with our brethren and sistren—and the jokes we might use. (In past visits, we found we could earn robust laughter by making fun of South Dakota.)
We pulled into a truck stop near Minot to get a snack. As we strolled to the entrance, we looked inside the establishment, which was creatively named Al's Truck Stop, and noticed two scraggly strangers inside.
"Look at those guys," Todd commented. "Haven't they heard of that great invention, the comb?"
"I don't even know if one could pull a comb through those unruly mops," Jedd noted. "When was the last time those guys got a haircut, the Carter Administration?"
"Maybe they're Nazirites," Todd offered. "Like Samson."
"I doubt it," Jedd countered. "Look at how gangly they are. They aren't strong like Samson. Delilah could whup the both of them."
"You're probably right," Todd said. "Hey, look, Jedd, one of those scrawny dudes has a Broncos jacket just like yours."
"And one of them is wearing tired old gray Kmart sweats like yours."
That's when it hit us like a big North Dakota snowball. We had met the ragamuffins, and they were us (or is it "we were they"?). We were seeing our own unkempt reflections in the truck-stop window.
"Does our hair really look that bad?" Jedd asked rhetorically.
"I'm afraid so. Truck-stop windows don't lie."
At this point we did some mental retracing and deduced that we hadn't received haircuts in about four months, when we were scheduled to be on a local TV show. (We ended up getting bumped in favor of a guy who bought a half-eaten sandwich on eBay for six hundred dollars. The other half of the sandwich had been eaten by Celine Dion, or maybe it was Deion Sanders, or perhaps Dionne Warwick. It could have been Dion of Dion & the Belmonts. In any case, the discarded food of any of those celebrities was apparently more interesting than the Brothers Hafer.)
Anyway, our heads now looked like mop tops. And not fashionable mop tops like those of the Beatles. Ours were more like stringy, unruly mops that are used to clean prison rest rooms. We knew we could not face the members of our sister church like this. It would be a poor way to represent our home church. It would show a lack of moral character. Besides, the North Dakota teens would make fun of us.
As we entered downtown Minot we strained our eyes, looking for someplace that would bring order to the chaos atop our heads—for under ten bucks, if possible. We saw a couple of high-end salons, Shear Excellence and some other fancy-looking French-looking place called Tressed to Kill (or maybe it was Turn Your Head and Coif). We knew these businesses were for people beyond our social strata and income level. (You have to beware any time you see a hair salon with a sign noting FINANCING AVAILABLE.)
We were growing desperate when we saw Kustom Kutz. We smiled at each other. Places that don't know how to spell are typically quite economical. Beyond economical, in this case. As we pulled into the KK parking lot, we saw a hand-lettered sign in the window. It read, WEEKEND SPECIAL: 2-FOR-1 HAIRCUTZ!
Twenty-two minutes later, we walked through piles of our own hair to the Kustom Kutz exit, feeling lighter in spirit and lighter in the head, if you know what we mean.
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