For the past year I've been a regular at a restaurant near my work. And during this year, I've seen much of the wait staff come and go - except for this one guy.
You see, this one particular waiter is always there, and more importantly, he's always wearing this one particular big, baggy rastafarian hat (the place is pretty hippity dippity, so they probably encourage Bob Marley look a likes). Anyway, today I go to the restaurant for probably the hundredth time, and for the first time EVER I see the waiter...without his hat on!
Big whoop, you're saying. NO! This is a HUGE fucking whoop! The waiter had hair down to his knees! I kid you not... HAIR. Down. To. His. Knees! It wasn't dirty hair either, just thin strands of blond and brown dancing up his legs and always following in his path a second behind.
Now, I've always wanted long hair...because, you know, long hair is great. I've even grown it down to my shoulders a few times, and with each attempt, I'm sorry to say that I look pretty goofy. So long hair probably isn't destined for my future, but I can still admire the long locks of another dude...right?
"Dude!" I say to the waiter as he comes to my table. "Your hair is crazy long."
"I know, almost a decade in the making, man."
"Wow, dude. That is...AWESOME!" There are certain situations where I can really talk like a surfer, this being a prime example.
"You should always wear it down," I say. "Don't cover it up with a hat!"
"I would, man, but upper management, man. They say I have to keep it covered. Some health thing."
Then we both sigh and are silent, sharing an immature feeling of hate towards "the man keeping us down"...if you're reading this, you know what I'm talking about.
But then he smiles. He looks from side to side and leans into me so his hair is lightly swaying only inches from a my face, like each strand is an individual flag of individualism.
"But you know what?" the waiter says. "Fuck it. Sometimes you have to let your hair down." Then he smiles, drops a few napkins on my table (the cloth kind that you can rewash) and he walks away. I just sit there... I want to say something to the waiter, thank him for this little moment in time, but all I can do is swallow and let out a soft chant.