A few months ago I had to call a plumber to fix my clogged tub.
In the process, we had to root the thing out through the sink, so I had to clean out the vanity.
In said vanity, I found a "beard brush". I googled it. I think its was one of those stocking stuffers that my grandmother gave me in my late teens as part of a grooming kit.
Seeing the beard brush made me immediately want to grow a beard so that I could use it, . . . and so I did.
So, I've been letting this beast grow, with minor trimming.
Anyhow, I've been living in bearded bliss the past 2 months, just enjoying my overbrush, and I never really noticed any different treatment. . .
That is, until I rolled up to Starbucks - BOOM! I'm in. I get the hippy nod. I get the stopper placed in my drink without even having to ask, and dude asks me if I want another pump of flavoring - GRATIS! Shit, the other day, the hippy barista chick gave my kid a free cake pop, probably just because her dad looked like he was "in the tie dye club". It wasn't even the end of the day.
But the biggest introduction to "the genre" came when we went to the good 'ole health food store to buy some scented oils for my daughter to put in her slime.
Every other time I ventured into this patchouli-smelling brick-and-mortar version of Lollapalooza, I was was always treated like a "suit". Ignored. Almost felt a bit of their contempt protruding out from pursed smiles while they pretended to look busy. No outstanding customer service, no inside info, and they even enforced the minimum to use a debit card for purchases.
Shit, all that is gone with my new beardbuddy.
The stankin', probabaly long armpit-hair-having lady runs right up to us as we enter the store, asking to help. Takes us to the spot, counsels us to get certain brands that are cheaper. Then we go to the register, and the older lady slams me with a huge regular customer discount, even though we are not reggies. That never happened before. THEN, since we are now presumable card-carrying members of the HippyClub, she instructs the other lady to give us a bunch of free test bottles of the oils. These things are like $15 a piece! HA!! NOT WHEN YOU'RE IN THE CLUB!!
Totally hooked up, and it was all because of the Beard.
And it gets better. I reach in my jacket to pay, and I realize that I grabbed the wrong jacket, and that my wallet was at home. Quickly, I remembered that I had my checkbook in the car. I ask, fully expecting them to say "no". Instead, they smilingly say, "SURE, NO PROBLEM!", and they allow me to write a personal check with not a shred of ID. On top of that, they gave my kid a handful of organic suckers. BOOM. This does not happen without my frizzy facebro. No fucking way. I'm in.
Shit, I'm looking to attend a hipster homemade beerfest now and REALLY test this fucker out!
Totally feels like this - no doubt: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l_LeJfn_qW0
My wife and I were laughing our asses off when I told her about this and showed her this video clip. (i.e. "Go ahead . . . Take it!")
Will report my future bearded exploits, infiltrating the ranks of the hippies and hipsters, but please share yours if you have them.
-PP
has suddenly come to a close.