Along Came Daddyhood

 
Recently, the Wife informed me that my hair was too long. I don't remember the word she used: Puffy? Fuzzy? Poofy? No matter. The message was clear. I needed to be groomed.

So off I went to Great Clips.

But I haven't always gone to Great Clips. (BACKSTORY ENGAGE)

Once upon a time (in high school), my mom would cut my hair. This worked well. I am not Fabio or Jesse Katsopolis and I do not need a complex hair treatment. Put a guard on the clippers and let it run.

But tragically during my senior year, my mother breached my hairline with unguarded clippers. And it was the night before a dance. FANTASTIC. It wouldn't have been so bad, but this guy...


...called me "Spot" for 2 months afterwards (PEOPLE DON'T FORGET, ANDREW.).

So after that, I took matters into my own hands and was inspired to perform my own haircuts much like Britney Spears. We are kindred spirits, really.
This arrangement worked well until my nuptials with the Wife because she disapproved of my method. Why, pray tell?

Because I was, as she termed it, "trashy." How dare she? Apparently, cutting my hair on the front steps to our house in view of all our neighbors was bad form. I say it's a discrepancy in gender values, but she won and this is why I frequent the local Great Clips.

(DISENGAGE BACKSTORY)

But the point remains...why am I talking about Great Clips?

If you've ever been to a GC, you've no doubt noticed my favorite part of the trip. Seemingly, the great corporate entity that owns GC has mandated that the employees MUST greet every customer. On paper this is a very good idea. The first essence smacking a customer in the face will not be hair product or formaldehyde, but the cordiality of all the employmees.

The reality of this is very different though.

Without fail, every trip to GC comes not with a robust and hardee, "HELLO VALUED CUSTOMER!", but with a sorrowful chorus of "Welcome to Great Clips." The words spill out of their mouths like the tortured spill confessions and for a moment I wonder if I am in an establishment of hair cuttery or a torture den.

I don't like this gimmick in retail stores.

When indulging in Cold Stone Creamery, I notice some people putting tips in the tip jar for the sole purpose of hearing the employees sing "Tip Tip Hooray." The employees sheepishly look around like carnival animals and unenthusiastically perform the "Tip Top Hooray" song, while the tipping customer looks on like a buffoon.

Here's what I've learned thus far in life: When forced to do something, effort is cut 50%. We all have built in authority issues. If you say you don't, then you are lying and are probably plotting something horrendous like an Edward Cullen fan site.

Understanding the 50% cut in effort, when someone is then also forced to be enthusiastic, an additional 48% is slashed, leaving 2% effort. If you think you can legislate an employee's joy at seeing my mug walk through a door, you are SORELY mistaken, Suit.

This brings me to my real point; I encounter feigned enthusiasm all day: at Chick-fil-A (it is NOT your pleasure to get me more ketchup packets!), in retail stores, and all customer service calls. People act as though entering into a business transaction with me is a virtual Turkish Delight. I can assure you, it is not.


But all of this only serves to make the real thing that much better. Retrieving the Boy after a nap or night's rest is good, but in the face of all the faux interest I am bombarded with, his reaction makes it all the better. His giggle and laugh is the best welcome I can get.