I took today off, to pick up the boys at the Philadelphia airport. Their week in paradise is winding down, and they were supposed to be back in the land of harsh reality at 5:30 today. However… before I’d even gotten out of bed, their flight was delayed by almost six hours.
So, now I’m not even going to leave the house until about 8 pm. And hopefully the whole thing won’t be canceled. That’s what I think is going to happen, but we’ll see how it goes. My folks are supposed to call, once the kids are on the plane.
Another fun fact: it’s snowy and somewhat icy out there. Yes, it’s all coming together… If the flight leaves when it’s currently scheduled, and my car doesn’t go cart-wheeling into a ravine, we’ll probably be home about 2 am. Good stuff.
I keep refreshing the flight info page, and it hasn’t changed since 11 this morning. I’ve got my Ballpark Franks fingers crossed. Wish us luck.
Today I was thinking about getting a haircut, but didn’t want to pay $20 for a five minute clipper job. I decided I’d call around to some actual barber shops, and see how much each of them charge for a regular cut.
Yeah, I called two and both were so grouchy and disagreeable, I just gave up on it.
The first place was where I got a cut many years ago from some old bastard spewing racist comments the whole time. “These blacks, they’re taking over…” he informed me, while wielding a razor near my face. The dude had never seen me before in his life. It was insane. But that was more than a decade ago… I was willing to give it another shot.
And I don’t even know what happened. Some guy answered like he was at home: “Hello?” he shouted in an agitated tone. I asked if I’d called the barber shop, and he said yeah, like I was the biggest idiot he’d encountered in quite some time.
“How much do you charge for an adult cut?” I asked.
“I’m not telling you over the phone,” he answered.
Blinking in confusion, I said, “Well, I’ll go somewhere else, then.”
“That’s up to you,” he said, and the phone went dead in my ear. Hello? Hello??
I called another place, and he also answered like I’d reached him at home, during dinner.
“Are you open?” I said.
“I answered didn’t I?” he replied.
Wha’? Why all the hostility? Jesus J. McChrist. I asked him for a price, and he wouldn’t tell me, either. He wasn’t as assholish about it as the first guy, but it was close. He signed off by saying, “OK, kid.” Weird.
I simply don’t understand. Are haircut prices closely-guarded secrets that I should know better than to expect by phone? Was I breaking some well-known protocol? What the crap is going on here? And why so grouchy? Sheesh.
I guess I’ll just go plunk down another twenny dollar bill, so some cig-ravaged divorcee can drag clippers across my noggin for five minutes. It feels like too much, but whatever.
This is the time of night when I should be getting snuggled up in front of one of the hundreds of Gordon Ramsay shows, but I’m leaving for Philadelphia instead. The flight was just pushed back another 41 minutes. Grrr… I don’t think it’s actually going to leave tonight, but I have to go anyway.
I’ll see you guys again soon.
Have a great day.