I guess, whatever.


Sup babe?

How come Calvin's not wearing a shirt?

Cause I put him in "Time Out" on the couch in the studio cause he was crying and running back and forth through the house and he took his shirt off and was pretending to throw it at me.

Did he? Did he throw it at you?



Calvin was crying today because he got a bad hair cut.

It wasn't that bad, and it certainly wasn't the worst.

The worst, of course being the time when I tried to do it myself and he ended up squirming so bad that we had to shave it all off. He was screaming, his mother was screaming and we ended up with a boy who looked like he had mange.

This one just gives him a page boy top with a surfer dude curly bottom.

It's not that noticeable, especially if you're like me and not the kind of person who notices those things.

So Joann comes in just now and tells me that his hair cut is really bad.

I guess, whatever.

Which is the only thing I ever say that makes her want to punch me in the uterus.

See, technically, I was the parent of record during the hair cut, which makes me the one who is ultimately responsible for things not turning out well. But, in my defense, I did every thing I could to ensure that the basic instructions were met, and by doing so, am bullet proof in the eyes of the lord.

I was to tell the hair cutterer to give his hair a nice trim and get it out of his eyes.

I relayed those instructions to the letter.

The hair cutterer, a big boned gal in her mid 20's, who clearly hated everything about her life, starting with her job and possibly ending with everything that ever happened on any day that doesn't end with Red Bull and vodka, did exactly what I told her.

She trimmed a bit and got his bangs out of his eyes.

It wasn't pretty and she was essentially done before I could finish an article on a local french restaurant that was very polite but rather short on praise, which I found interesting because the restaurant had gone out a business awhile ago.

Which can only mean two things.

Either I've slipped time again or the hair cutterer's boss need to update the magazines.

Calvin started sniveling the second we got to the car.

He was very disappointed in the way he looked.

I didn't notice.

Yet had I been a hair cuttering professional, I would have seen clear as day that this was not the most reasonable outcome for a ten minute $18 hair cut.

Wasn't really all that close.

Was actually pretty ridiculous.

And here's the thing: I've been in customer service for years,


And people are awful. They really are. I'm sorry about that. And when they go to a place to pay for a service, they kind of have a reasonable expectation that the professional will be making a few professional decisions based on the likeliest positive outcome.

Like when people would ask me to make some thing for them that I knew was just going to be awful, I would let them know first that it was a terrible idea and that I could make them something much better if they wanted, but if they persisted, I would let them know that I will absolutely make it for them to the best of my ability, and that if I was right and it was awful, I will be magnanimous about it and make them something better to replace the thing they thought they wanted but didn't really.

There are actually four possible outcomes to this scenario:

One: They trust me and we all live happily ever after.

Two: It's awful, they recognize it as awful, they gratefully accept my better judgement.

Three: Its' awesome, and we both agree that we have just experienced a very human sharing moment.

Four: It's awful but they're way too embarrassed to say so and creep out of the room in shame never to show their faces again.

All four are perfectly fine.

However, if I say nothing, all hell breaks loose. I'm just stirring the pot with my indifference.

Now I'm the kind of customer in scenario One. I'll give you instructions to the best of my ability and then I'll read your body language to see how close I came to reasonable. You won't be able to hide your disappointment of me if you think I'm crazy and I'll get your advice one way or another. We will win the game of society because I openly admit my ignorance and trust your professional judgement.

But if you don't care; if I'm like "Take off a few inches and get the bangs out of his eyes." and you're like "I guess, whatever." and the outcome is terrible, well then, we've lost the social fabric, and my wife  has permission to punch you in the uterus.

Cause I'll be in "Time Out" pretending to throw my T-Shirt at the Jets game.

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