Monday, November 14, 2005


I have been getting my hair cut at Supercuts for more than a decade, and I am almost always satisfied with their service. I have liked them for numerous reasons, some being:

1. They have lots of locations.
2. I can call in advance so that I don’t have to wait in line.
3. All of their employees know the same lingo and jargon (ie a #2 clippers is 2/8ths of an inch, #3 is 3/8ths, “scrounded in the back” is a mix of a square and rounded neckline trim). You might know what I’m talking about. You might not. All that matters is that the person cutting my hair does.
4. Lastly, all their employees are trained the same way at a Supercuts University (or something). They all have little degrees with their names posted next to the mirror in front of you while you sit.

For these reasons, I have been happy with my haircuts and with Supercuts in general.

That being said, I had the scariest haircut of my life on Friday. No joke. The end result was a normal haircut, but the means to the end were horrific. My blood pressure was the highest its ever been. I actually ran out of adrenaline. She seemed normal enough at first. The only employee working in an empty Supercuts on a Friday at 7pm.

She was polite enough, but I should have seen the little clues. Forgetting to put an apron on me before she almost started buzzing my hair. Losing the scissors twice. Asking me questions, only so she could jump in and tell me her answer. Apologizing for missing some spots and saying she’ll go back over them a second time. Flipping out/spaz-answering the phone when a customer was calling. Attacking my hair with her scissors, using what I have named the “swoop and clip full-arm cut” instead of a gentle squeeze, as the scissor manufacturers intended. Turning the chair so I was not facing the mirror. I COULD NOT SEE WHAT WAS HAPPENING!

Near the end of the cut, after several panic attacks and a mild heart attack, I saw her Supercuts Diploma. First, let me say that I saw it because the chair wasn’t pointed at the mirror, but at a ninety-degree angle. Second, and most importantly, the date on the diploma was October 21, 2005. Yep that’s right. I got a rookie, two weeks out of school. Maybe that’s why she was working the crappy Friday night shift. I should have put all the pieces together quicker.

You know how in movies they say “the names have been changed to protect the innocent?” Well, I’m not changing her name. I want to help protect the innocent. Her name is Karolyn Jones. She cuts in the back left corner of the Beaverton Town Center Supercuts. She has squiggly brown hair. Beware.

This isn’t the first time I’ve had a sketchy cut at this specific Supercuts. I’ve only complained about this location. The other location in the area (185th and Walker) is excellent. Never made a complaint. Maybe they recruit the good hairdressers to the 185th store? I don’t know. Another weird coincidence is that the Burgerville one hundred yards from the bad Supercuts also has a bad track record. They are a Burgerville that trains new employees for the Portland area, and consistently takes forever and messes up orders. Long story short, stay away from Beaverton Town Center for all food/shopping/service needs.

Monday, November 07, 2005

4 Facts You Need to Know to Survive

Coca-cola is the puppet master and I am their puppet. Coke is discontinuing Vanilla Coke in the next few months (I think by the end of 2005!). How can they do that to me?! They introduce a flavor I like, that I love, and then snatch the bottle away from me. No more Diet Vanilla or Diet with Lemon, either. Corporate bullshit if you ask me.

They are going to replace Vanilla in the spring with New Black Cherry Vanilla Coke. So I guess that okay, combining the forces of Cherry and Vanilla to make a new super cola. But I don’t like the arrogance and authority they nationally exercise.

And here’s another thing. The most recent Coke contest rewarded one in four bottle caps with a free liter bottle of Coke. A liter. A LITER. Think about that---a liter. How cocky is that? They give away a prize that A) no store carries in stock B) doesn’t fit in your car cup holder and C) is too bulky to carry around. Plus, who the hell drinks a whole LITER at once?

Those one in four contest are the devil. They could introduce New Broccoli Coke and I’d try it, as long as I was told that it was NEW, that it tasted good, and that I had a one in four chance of winning another New Broccoli Coke.

Anyway, New Black Cherry Vanilla Coke will soon be released with some type of sale or contest… one in four wins a free coke, or a trip to the final four. And I won’t want to, but I will try it. Dance, Matt, DANCE!!!

Being called by your given name, instead of your common name, sucks. Being called by your given name nine times within one minute by a complete stranger sucks forty fold. It angers you, it frustrates you, and it makes you want to yell at the person speaking.

Apparently this is the goal of the Wells Fargo branch located on NW 185th. They are trying to lose customers by over-personalizing the banking process. Every sentence the girl said to me either began with Matthew or ended with Matthew. Or both began AND ended with Matthew. (Grandma Giraffe doesn’t even call me Matthew. Nobody does. Seriously, nobody.)

I was a little T-O-ed when Safeway started ending the checkout process with “Thank you Mr… ahhhhh… Graff. You saved… ummm… 11% today.” Now I only wish, hope, and pray that Wells Fargo reverts to this single-name-identifying strategy. From now on, I’m using the drive through ATM for all banking needs. No more humans.

Alarm clocks are not your friend. I’m working again. Well, I’m freelancing, actually. This is kind of a good way of easing myself back into the working world. But let me tell you, sleeping in almost every day of the week is something that I am going to miss. Unemployment does have an upside, and it is called Sleep. I can’t even begin to find the value of planning to wake up “oh I don’t know, some time between nine and noon, probably.” Stupid alarm clock.

Motor tricycles are going to be all the rage in 2007. Don’t ask me why I know. Don’t ask me how I know. Just know that I know. And remember 16 months from now, that you read it here.

Wednesday, November 02, 2005


So last night, JJ and I were waiting to turn left at a stoplight, and the girl in the car next to us totally picked her nose..... AND ATE IT! She dug deep. She really got in there good. She picked, then she licked. She picked and licked. And let me tell you, JJ was grossed out. Seriously sickened by the whole event. I wasn't as disgusted, but then again, I was driving and wasn't right next to her car.

And I thought, why didn't she disguise it? She could have covered with the other hand, right? Why didn’t she wait until she got somewhere more private, like at home or in a bathroom? Maybe she thought she WAS safe in her car. I mean I’ve gotten caught singing in the car, and that’s a little embarrassing. Being caught gold-mining must be ten times worse. But you dig your own grave. (Pun alert—DIG your own grave. Get it? DIG! *insert rimshot*)

So I did some quick research, I mean I am working right now, but I found this site that has some stats from two studies of “rhinotillexomania,” the fancy name for nose-picking. 8% of people say they’ve never picked, those liars. And 8% admit to the pick and lick. So now you know. Every time you’re at a stoplight, look to the car next to you. There’s an 8% chance that they’re a picker/eater. That means you’re idling next
to a picker/eater once every twelve lights. One in twelve. Now all you have to do is wait, watch, and catch them in the act. And then honk honk honk point point point.