My barber is a fuck-up
but the haircut was fine
Every few years I run into this guy I used to know. We weren’t friends back in the day, but we had mutual friends, so we often hung out in the same bars. The man was a total fuck-up when we were in our salad days, and now that we’ve entered our entree days, he’s fucking up on an even bigger level. Which brings me to my barber, Araz, aka the fuck-up du jour.
“Man, I’m having one of those days,” Araz said by way of hello. “It’s chaos. I overslept, cuz I was hungover. And I just found out I owe money. I had a DUI, but I forgot to go to the last class. Now they’re charging me for all the classes, cuz I have to take them again. Plus all this other stuff. That’s why I kept you waiting. I was on the phone with my wife. I forgot to get pampers, cuz I had to go to the DMV for the DUI stuff. So she’s getting pampers. And chips. I love chips. You married? Got kids?”
Araz exhaled for the first time since we met.
“Married. No kids.”
“Smart man.”
“I don’t know if I’m smart. I’m a happy man.”
We went over the details of the haircut.
“You went to the DMV today?” I asked as Araz went to work.
“Man, it’s zombies there. I cut the line, but this old lady ratted me out. One of those days. I found out I had these unpaid parking tickets, too. Who reads those signs?”
“Readers.”
“Once you have kids, it’s a commitment, man. They’re full-on. And it’s for life.”
Araz liked to jumped around. I was seated, but I’d have to stay on my toes.
“That’s what they say. If you get divorced and you have kids, you’re still linked forever. If there are no kids, you never have to see your ex again.”
“Dude, that’s my in-laws,” Araz said. “My wife’s parents can’t be in the same room together. They always fight. Oil and water.”
“Or, oil and matches.”
“Can I use that? My wife still wants her parents to be together, and I’m like, honey, your dad is a fucked up dude. I mean, he’s a cool guy. But not really. He’s a former Navy SEAL. And an ex-con. He got out of the service, and became a drug runner. He used my wife’s mom as a mule. She didn’t know it. That’s what kept her out of prison. He did ten years. Plus, he put a knife to her throat. And cheated on her a lot. So they don’t like hanging out. And he drinks. Tons. He’s basically dying of liver stuff. But he’s still super jacked.”
The situation sounded like a Don Winslow novel to me.
“I’m not gonna pay the fine. The DUI thing.”
“No?” I asked.
“I’ll tell ‘em I don’t have a grand, even though I do. I’d rather spend the money on weed. I go to this place that doesn’t charge sales tax. They’re shady, but weed is too expensive. I’ll be like, will you take five hundred instead of a grand?”
“What if they won’t?”
Araz shrugged. He’d think of something.
“I got kids, man. Two with her. One with another woman. My wife is mad, cuz I also forgot chips yesterday. The thing is, I got chips. I ate the whole bag on the way home. Stress, work shit. I got in a fight with my boss, cuz he’s an asshole. I thought I was gonna get fired. I always get fired. This is my fifth job this year. I told my wife to get a family-size bag. That’ll last me a week. I need my chips, man. It’s like I get home after work and everything is crazy with the kids and stuff, and I just wanna sit on the couch with my chips and zone out.”
“What kind of chips?”
“I’m a Cool Ranch man.”
“I’m an OG Nacho Cheese man myself.”
“I’ll tell you what else is messed up about my day. I flooded our kitchen. It was like a foam party, man. My wife was like, do the dishes, so I was like, whatever, and I put the wrong soap in, or something. The plumber is there now. When he’s done, she’ll go get the chips. And the pampers. You got kids?”
“No.”
“That’s right. I already asked you that. I’m a dad so I can’t fuck up.”
I wanted to ask Araz what that meant, exactly. Were his kids his motivation for not fucking up, or did fatherhood somehow immunize him from fucking up? But I never get the chance to clarify. Araz finished the haircut, then informed me that his coworker would ring me up because he was “gonna die” if he didn’t go outside and vape.
Which brings me back to the guy I used to know, the fuck-up I run into every few years. We’re due for another chance encounter. But this time, when he waxes nostalgic about our salad days, I’ll tell him to get a haircut from Araz. Sitting in his barber’s chair ought to remind him that the more things change, the more they stay the same.
UPDATE: Burrito Journalism Unlocked
Ask and ye shall receive. The burrito journalism story is happening, thanks to the generous support of several situation normies. A big thank you to Kevin Davis, who put us over the top. And a ginormous burrito-sized thank you to Steve Huntley, who sent way too much money. Big thanks also goes out to and Liz Madans for upgrading to annual subscriptions. Last, but not least, big thanks to someone with a Verizon email address (but no name) who upgraded to an annual subscription. Stay tuned for the burrito story!
Stick Around and Chat
I ask, you answer
Have you ever had one of those days? Tell your story!
Are you Team Cool Ranch, or Team OG Nacho Cheese? Dish.
Why is it that people fuck-up, but never fuck-down? Explain.
Is Araz gonna be OK? Wrong answers only.
Is parenthood a motivation for not fucking up, or does it immunize you from fuck-ups?
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