WILLIAM Z. SNYDER STICKS IT TO THE MAN - Part 2

...continued from William Z. Snyder Sticks it to the Man - Part 1.

Backing my car out of the parking space, I noticed the Supercuts guy in the window. Would you believe me if I told you he was giving me the stink eye? Well, that’s exactly what the little creep was doing. So I waved him off with the palm of my hand. Believe it or not, the nut job nut raced out from Supercuts and kicked the side of my car with his meticulously shined steel toed Jackboots. Before I had time to react, the kook tore the windshield wiper away from my car.


He was out of his mind. Quite frankly, I’d taken all I could take.

It was on.


Slamming the car into neutral, I threw the door open and sprang from my car, ready to brawl it out with my antagonist.


“I’m not taking any more crap from anybody!” he screamed, winding his boot back to kick.


But I was ready and I wasn’t in any mood to take any crap myself. I caught his foot and sent him crashing onto the sidewalk.


My adrenaline was pumping.


“Get up!” I shouted, waving him toward me.

Someone leapt unto my back and wrapped an arm around my throat.


“Leave Marvin alone, you big galute!” screamed the woman on my back.


Marvin staggered back to his feet and came after me with my windshield wiper. Before he had a chance to swing, I cracked him in the nose with a hard, short right. Marvin dropped back to the sidewalk holding his profusely bleeding nose.

The woman on m back began digging her fingernails into my throat and gnawing on my right ear as two other female Supercuts employees rushed toward me from the front door. Reaching over my shoulder I grabbed the assailant on my back by her blouse, ripped her loose and a launched her into her charging coworkers. They fell like bowling pins.


It was over As Quickly as it had started. Marvin was crying and the girls sat shaking their heads, trying to make sense of the birds and stars.


Placing my hands on hips, I threw my head back and laughed heartily


“How do you like them apples, Supercuts people?”


OK, that’s not really what happened. Guess I got a little carried away at the keyboard. I’d be lying if I told you that somewhere in the darkest recesses of my psyche, I didn’t enjoy fanaticizing about letting loose.


As for the real story of how I stuck it to the man, you’ll have to wait until next week.

WILLIAM Z. SNYDER STICKS IT TO THE MAN - Part 1

For too many years I’ve been supporting the sociopathic corporations of the world by bringing my haircut business to the Supercuts conveniently located less than a mile from my home.

Not anymore, brother.



I’m sticking it to the man, baby.

It all started when I drove down to the local Supercuts for a quick buzz job last Sunday afternoon. Stepping through the door I was not greeted by a swooshy thirty-something hair stylist hairstylist with a whole lot of eye makeup and a half-dozen pieces of metal sticking out of his face. Three hairstylists were snipping away on their customers. Mister second rate Marilyn Manson finished sweeping up a pile of hair before casually strutting up to the counter.

“Can I help you?” he said, avoiding any semblance of eye contact and making it clear that helping me was the last thing he wanted to do.


“Can I get a tuna fish sandwich?”


This is my stock line for the ever changing array Supercuts employees who consistently ask me that ridiculous question.


“Right. We’re closed. We close at three, I’m sorry.


“Right,” I said turning and heading back to the car.


I really didn’t want that guy cutting my hair anyway. Inside the car, I turned the ignition key and the clock read 2:58. That’s when it hit me. It was time to find a new joint to cut my hair. Over the thirteen years I’d been frequenting the corner Supercuts, I’d received a few bad haircuts and a lot of mediocre haircuts, but they had only cut my hair the way I wanted twice. I usually shrugged and reminded myself that the difference between a bad haircut and a good haircut is about two weeks.

2:58.

I was tired of being pushed around by soulless corporations. Soulless corporations wear different faces too. On this particular day they wore the face of a thirty five year-old weirdo with eye makeup and a whole mess of metal stuck too his face who didn’t even bother to give up a courtesy laugh for my tuna fish sandwich line.

To be continued…