The day I nearly became a redneck

This post is already a little weird from the headline, but I was a little apprehensive when I walked into a barber yesterday to get a haircut. My view of the US and haircuts was not a good one. I don’t know where I got that perception from, but it’s been stuck in my mind for ages. The barber spoke very little English and I was trying to tell them step by step how to cut my hair, because it seemed the Spanish-speaking barber didn’t understand “one-inch off the whole way round”. Anyway, I finished with the ordeal and walked outside. I put my hand on the back of my neck and felt something weird… something I hadn’t felt since the 80’s. Something that I thought I’d put behind me a long time ago. I had a mullet. I looked at the reflection in the barber shop window and saw a redneck. I had an urge to smash my front teeth out and buy a check shirt and braces and call myself “Cletus”. I fought the urge, raced back inside the barber shop and said “This won’t do!” and got that mullet removed. Thank God for that.