I wrote this story a few years ago to describe my experience as a busker in Boston’s T subway stations:
Maybe this bizarre desire to put myself in front of people I don’t know and perform stems from something in my childhood. Like when I used to dress up in costumes consisting of green tights (with tighty whiteys over them, of course), flippers, snorkel and mask, and a belt with a rubber knife in it and go downstairs when my parents had parties and entertained the crowd.
I don’t know who can be credited or blamed for suggesting that I do it. Maybe I even came up with the idea myself. All I know is that within a month of living in Boston, I was considering being a subway performer. I heard guys doodling away on their clarinets in the T stations and I had seen their hats overflowing with cash. I figured I could do it. I play guitar…and I make noises akin to singing…why not try it?
Spend any amount of time around enough the youth of today and you’ll probably note that, after a certain hour, they begin to smell like a pack of weird Uncles out for a Full Moon Party. Talk to any of said youth, and you’ll realize that one horrible thing binds them all together: Axe body stuff.
Fortunately, the consumer reach of Axe products has moved beyond smelly spray cancers and into the territory of smelly hair products. Even more fortunately my local dapper gentleman’s shoppe, the White Hen Pantry, was handing out free samples. After a co-worker gave them to me as a ‘gift’, I planned to use them for the forces of evil, and then I realized: I occassionally write for an Internet Blog®.
(Yes, you heard right, it’s actually called “Whatever”. The chosen word of a generation of sloppy, vloggy, ne’er-do-wells. That just-washed, soft hair look? Psshh, whatever, Gramps.)
To be frank, my hair has been getting a little unruly, and so maybe there was a part of me that figured that this ‘messy’ look solution would offer some hope to my do-nothing-mop. Maybe I’d be stunned and shocked at just how wrong I was in my initial sarcastic, holier-than-you judgement. You probably see where this is going.
Results? This stuff looks like dry gum. Consequently, it feels like dry gum too, which is not something you should ever then put in the stringy, fragile material connected to your scalp. It feels like rubbing glue on your head, and it smells like the backseat of a car without wheels. And it does this to your hair:
To quote my girlfriend, Meredith, “You smell like an armpit.” Mission accomplished.
I have realized that the gobs of money that so many people talk about lies in “chick lit.” Thus, I will be writing a novel with a quirky, not-so-perfect-as-to-be-unrelatable heroine always looking for great shoes and the perfect mate.
I will have a million dollars and a movie deal by this time next year.
By explaining exactly why I will not have children: