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This morning, I dragged myself out of bed after another psuedo all-nighter. (It’s not a real all-nighter, because although I worked till 7 a.m., I then slept for four hours. I figure a real all nighter is when you don’t go to bed and just keep working.)

After showering, I made a sobering discovery: I was all out of hair product. As you can probably imagine, this was a major issue for me. I wouldn’t want to go to work without may hair all fun and spike, not to mention that as my hair is currently cut, it looks pretty bad if I wear it down. Besides, I think the spikey hair frames my face better. It’s like the rug in the Big Liebowski — it ties my whole face together.

I searched high and low, through the medicine cabinet, the vanity and the bathroom cupboard, and found that there was nary a hair product in the house which would fortify my hair for the long day ahead. There was only one solution: stop at the Sunrise Mart and buy new hair wax. This is one of the many advantages of living in the East Village: Japanese markets are conveniently on the way to the subway.

After a quick trip to Sunrise, I had my precious Gatsby “hard keep type” hair wax. Here’s where things got hairy. (I would say “no pun intended,” but I don’t think anyone would believe me.) I got on the train and perhaps was somewhat overeager, because I couldn’t wait another minute to start styling my hair.

I opened the wax and started to rub some into my hair. I was in the corner of the car, and it was fairly empty (as it was almost noon), so I thought I was being subtle. I mean, who doesn’t style their hair on the subway? Women do their eye shadow and lipstick, so why can’t I do a little wax?

The process just wasn’t feeling right, so I turned to look in the window to see my reflection. At that moment, I saw two girls in the next car, laughing heartily and pointing. I’m not sure if the laughter was derisive or friendly, because I pretended not to notice (one must keep up the charade that their behavior is normal at all times). Regardless, I clearly provided them with some amusement for their day.

But here’s the upshot: my hair looks terrible. It’s a complete mess. Between having it dry “down” and styling it on the subway with no mirror, it looks more like an eccentric professor or a homeless person who got up on the wrong side of the bed than anything. So the moral of the story is: don’t do your hair on the subway.

This entry was posted on Wednesday, March 28th, 2007 at 9:28 pm and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.