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Santa Maria Sun / Humor

The following article was posted on April 10th, 2012, in the Santa Maria Sun - Volume 13, Issue 5 [ Submit a Story ]
The following articles were printed from Santa Maria Sun [santamariasun.com] - Volume 13, Issue 5

The price is lice

Krider fears the barber chair

By ROB KRIDER

When I was in the seventh grade, my primary priority in life was girls. That single priority resulted in a lot of other subsequent priorities that became increasingly important, like my hair cut, my deodorant choices, and the jeans I wore. Guess? (No, I’m not asking you to guess what kind of jeans I wore—the brand was Guess.) As a slightly insecure seventh grade boy who had just discovered the opposite sex, I was very busy making sure everything about me was just right for the ladies.


After jumping away, she tiptoed back up to me as if my skull were a grenade about to explode.

My concerns with “looking good for the ladies” led me to The Golden Razor, a small-town haircut operation owned by a husband and wife team who cut hair for a living. The Golden Razor wasn’t the sort of place where you could get a real trendsetting haircut. You pretty much had the choice of a buzz cut, a part on the left, a part on the right, the feather, and of course, a mullet. I’d have preferred to have been driven to a more progressive stylist, but being 12 years old, I pretty much went wherever my dad drove me, and on this particular day in my seventh grade year, he drove me to The Golden Razor.

When I walked in the door I saw a young co-ed classmate of mine, Jenny. Jenny and I had a couple of classes together, although I’m not sure she knew it. She was sitting in the corner chair getting her long, beautiful, straight, blonde hair trimmed. I was guided to the chair nearest the window, far from Jenny and her blonde hair.

The nice lady who co-owned The Golden Razor asked me what kind of haircut I wanted. I was going with my usual part on the left with a feather in the front. She began to cut my hair and made small talk with me about middle school. She asked me if I had a girlfriend. I was wishing she wouldn’t talk so loud. I didn’t want Jenny to hear our conversation. What I really wanted to tell this lady was that my chances of a girlfriend were dependent on her abilities with a pair of scissors and a comb.

She was halfway through my haircut, at that awkward moment where my head was a total mess. Suddenly she stopped, made a loud gasp, and jumped back about four feet. I had no idea what was going on. I didn’t feel any pain. I didn’t think she had lopped my ear off or anything. I didn’t see blood spurting out. After jumping away, she tiptoed back up to me as if my skull were a grenade about to explode. She kept her distance, and using a comb and a long reach, she moved a section of my hair to the side and inspected my head. Then she was absolutely sure. It was official.  I had head lice.

The nice lady said to my dad, not so nicely, “We are going to need to ask you to take your son and leave immediately. He’s infested with head lice.”

My blood went cold while my face went hot. I thought I might die of embarrassment. I wanted the ground to open up and swallow me and the stupid haircutting chair. Jenny glanced over at me, looking alarmed.  Other people grabbed their kids and quickly walked out the door. A man came running out from the back and exclaimed, “We will have to fumigate the entire shop!”

I meekly asked, “Um, are you going to finish cutting my hair?”

Both the husband and wife exclaimed, “No!”

My dad took me, with my ridiculous half of a haircut filled with bugs, and drove me to a drug store to buy some RID. We needed to decontaminate my head. We headed home and began the process of clearing my head of parasites. My parents washed my hair and used a tiny comb to drag the tiny lice carcasses from my mop. Then we started to wash every piece of linen in the house. I had to stay home from school for a week, doing laundry and washing my hair three times a day. I wasn’t really in a hurry to go back to school since I still only had half of a haircut.

My friends didn’t come over to visit me, and I really couldn’t blame them. They didn’t want to get lice, or be associated with me. But they were kind enough to call me on the phone and tell me that at school during the morning announcements the principle announced to the entire student body that anyone who had been near me needed to go home and have their parents search their scalp for lice. I definitely never wanted to go to school again. What would the point be? No girl would ever talk to me again. Socially, I was a dead man.

I sat at home folding sheets, feeling sorry for myself, combing my hair and searching for more bug corpses—and wondering if Jenny hated me forever for putting her beautiful, blonde hair at risk. I had no idea how I contracted lice. People at school probably thought I hung around the homeless and recklessly traded baseball hats.

As you can guess, I eventually went back to school and I survived the incident which has been coined “The Golden Razor Fiasco.” Middle school kids have short attention spans, and nobody really cared when I came back to school. However, to this day, I can’t get my hair cut without worrying they are going stop in the middle and throw me out of the joint.

Rob’s wife, whom he loves, didn’t know him in middle school and had no idea he was socially diseased. He met her in college and kept his lice history a secret.




Weekly Poll
Should the proposed aquifer exemption in Cat Canyon be approved?

Yes—the water from the proposed area can't serve as drinking water.
No—oil containments could still pollute usable groundwater.
Additional oil and gas projects can create more jobs.
We need to move away from oil and gas and look at renewable energy projects.

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