"Okay now, what I'm gonna want you to go ahead and do is cut the top reeeal spiky like, ya know, so it's all pointy or what have you. But ya see, I want you leave it all 'dangly' like in the back." As preposterous as it sounds, this really -- did -- happen. As I sat in the red barber-shop seat amongst Paul Mitchell products and a floor filled with the day's hair clippings, I couldn't help but squeak my stool and raise my left eyebrow when these words of hilarity were spoken by a man wearing leather chaps across the aisle from me. The bewildered hairdresser responded, "So um ... you're saying you want a mullet?" With the look of a head-cocked puppy befuddled by a strange noise in the attic infused with Billy Idol's bad-ass mentality, the long-haired man replied, "Uh whuh,what da hell's a mullet?"
I have seen more than one or two outlandish things in my time spent here on Planet Muncie, but to say that I was anything less than truly moved by the awe-inspiring words spoken by my new hair-cutting companion, would be an understatement. It's not every day you witness the initiation of a semi truck driver into the membership of the few and the proud ... the Mulletia. Clearing her throat from 30 liters of bottled up laughter, the master of mullet-creation ceremonies unsheathed her mighty blades of steal, and performed her commencing snips.
His top lip curled in a fashion emulating Johnny Rotten's famous snarl, while his extending index and pinky finger formed the "rock on" salute, which was thrust wildly in the air to the rhythm of "American Badass." With every batch of bangs that fell to his boots, the man's lopsided grin widened -- revealing every remaining tooth in his head. Slowly, like confederate flags at a monster truck rally, the man's hair morphed into a business in the front, with a party in the back. All the while, the audience chuckled as the conspicuous creature in the barber stool remained clueless.
This led me to one indisputable conclusion: The recognition factor of the mullet species with the word "mullet" is zero. Thus, those who sport mullets ... do not realize they're sporting mullets. For the coexistance of their race and verbal antagonizers, such as myself, it's probably a good thing.
Write to Travis at
tjabels@bsu.edu
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