(Rochester, NY) – Area resident Hanz Merkel reported a less than stellar experience at the Sports Clips on Monroe Avenue, early Sunday morning. Mr. Merkel, a German expatriate, said that he was lured to the retail chain under false pretenses.
“Their ads promised ein good experience. To get my hairs to be cut while I watch sports games,” said Merkel. “This did not happen.”
Mr. Merkel repeatedly expressed interest in watching a German Soccer game to the staff on duty. However both workers at the shop, Debbie Klowkaski and Nicole Ross, could not accommodate his requests to turn on the match between German Bundeslige favorite FC Bayern Munich take on rival Borussia Dortmund.
“He kept asking for this soccer match or whatever,” said Ms. Klowkaski. “I got the remote out of the manager’s office and tried to find it for him, but I don’t think Scott subscribes to that stuff on Dish.”
Scott is her shift manager.
This is not the first time Sports Clips has been perceived as unaccomodating to recent immigrants to the US. Area resident Aditya Patel made similar complaints when he entered the establishment for a buzz cut and was not able to watch the remaining 12 hours of the Chennai Super Kings v. Sunrisers Hydrabad cricket match. Sun-Yun Moon was turned away after Sports Clips associates could not find the Thomas Cup Badminton championship on ESPN or ESPN 2. Jorgen Hyalmmerson was disappointed that he couldn’t get his pony-tail trimmed during an airing of the once-a-decade Norwegian fish dancing competition, in which a team of local politicians’ grandmothers don leotards and wrestle the largest “Lutefisk” in the country.
Father’s Day is a time to honor and revere the man who helped raised you. On this day, sons and daughters will recount various tales of their Dad’s achievements and conquests. Sometimes these yarns can become ridiculous.
“My dad caught the biggest trout in Allegheny county.”
“My dad built the US Steel Building with his bare hands.”
“My dad won my mom’s heart in a drag race.”
I’ve noticed as I’m getting older that many of these legends have kernels of truth that have accumulated a heavy coating of exaggeration and forgetfulness. They started out as actual events but then, as legends tend to do, they get repeated and changed and altered in order to make the story-teller seem more interesting. Corners are cut. Gaps are filled in and patched. The evolved product is sure to keep the attention of even the most dill-weed-ish grandchild. So the above legends probably started out with facts like:
“My dad saw a guy catch the biggest trout in Allegheny county.
“My dad drywalled the US Steel Building’s 14th floor bathroom with his bare hands.”
“My dad won my mom’s heart at a drag queen contest.”
…
Probably around fourteen years old, I was at the height of my adolescent douchery. I was being a little jerk in school. Sleeping all day. Cheating on my math homework. My parents couldn’t tell me nothing about nothing. As I grew into a man’s body, I became less and less afraid of my dad. “He is damn near fifty,” I thought in the confines of the bedroom of the house he paid for. “I can probably take him if I wanted to.” I’m sure he felt me starting to scrape the velvet off of my antlers, gearing up for a confrontation. So as I was eyeing him up one faithful day (I’m sure he was putting gas in the car he gave me for free) he decided to casually mention a little legend that he had kept tucked away for such a situation.
“I wrestled a bear one time,” he said to me apropos of nothing.
I laughed at the outlandish claim, thinking that he was just trying to solidify his “don’t test me boy” status. In my hormone fueled haze, I thought this was a futile attempt to keep me in check. “You’ll have to do better than that, pops!,” I thought to myself.
Then he produced photo evidence.
Artists Rendering
I thought I had a copy of the picture that I could share with you. I can’t find it though. The cagey old man probably took it back so he could scare another generation of progeny once that time comes.
Now granted, he was wrestling a bear at Parkway Center mall in the late 80’s. The bear had a muzzle and a handler but still, it’s a freaking bear.
This incredibly long and rambling post is about as good a Father’s Day tribute as any male can muster. In a roundabout way, Father’s day is a time to say, “Thanks for not killing me when you easily could have and probably should have, Dad.”
Ed. Note – Terence McKenna was an American writer, lecturer and noted-whack job. His arguments and ideas follow flawless logic, impeccable research and possess a deep resonance with the pulsating heart of the human soul. However, he would be a really crappy shift manager if he worked at Cici’s.
It was 11:45 and the droves of worker bees from the Aquinas building were still pulling into the parking lot. Their cars wove a haphazard pattern or colors and logos. Grey Chevy Impalas, red Hyundai Elantras, and Blue Subaru Foresters all framed in the asphalt parking lot.
“I can’t believe there’s more,” Sarah the cashier said as she snapped her bubble gum. “Can someone go get Terry? I’m going to need more nickles in a few minutes.”
Kendrick the busboy perked up. “I’ll get him, Sarah.” He put his spray bottle down on the laminate counter and walked through the corridor to the manager’s office. The bright red door was closed. He rapped quickly.
“Terry? You in there? Sarah said she needs change.”
There was a dull rustling of papers that could be heard through the hollow aluminum door.
“Be out in a minute,” a voice called back. The rustling stopped and the door handle turned. Into the neon light of the corridor emerged Terry. Looking disheveled as always, he causally crept toward Kendrick with a bag that contained a few rolls of assorted coins.
“Here you go,” he handed the sack over. “Has the lunch rush finally subsided into some sort of manageable conglomerate of carnivores?” he asked.
“They’re still coming in,” Kendrick replied. “Dom said we’re running low on mushroom pizza and he’s doing like twelve things right now. You might need to jump back there and make a mushroom pie.”
“I would be glad to. After all, we are an ape with a symbiotic relationship to a mushroom,” Terry lectured. “And that has given us self-reflection, religion and all the spectrum of events that flow from these things.”
Kendrick was about to turn around and return to his task of spraying down the tables vacated by the “conglomerate of carnivores.” He had started the job in February and wasn’t really sure if he was doing a good job. Kendrick took pride in his work, even if it was just a lousy pizza shop. “Hey Terry? Am I doing ok?”
Terry looked shocked. “Kenny, you are a divine being. You matter, you count. You come from realms of unimaginable power and light, and you will return to those realms.”
Kendrick looked confused. “I meant more like are the tables clean and stuff?”
“Oh yes. They look fine. You’ve managed to make them mirrors of introspection.”
Just then a voice called out over the PA system. It was Sarah. “MANAGER TO THE FRONT! CUSTOMER COMPLAINT!”
Terry took a brief sigh. He hated direct confrontation. The prospect of a half-satiated bi-ped barking at him over the symmetry of the carrots in their Caesar salad or the fact that their sugar-water wasn’t bubbly enough. It was all so pedestrian. He meandered around the back for a bit more, hoping the problem would go away.
“MANAGER TO THE FRONT! CUSTOMER COMPLAINT!”
Terry plodded up to the cash wrap. A moderately obese woman with a Micky Mouse denim jacket stood tapping her press-on fingernails on the register. The Aqua-net cemented her hair skyward, perhaps in some ill-conceived homage to a god she has never experienced.
“Yes Ma’am,” he asked. “How can I help?”
“Yeah, I had paid for a large pizza. And y’all gave me a small or something,” she snapped. “Are you guys for real with that?”
Terry looked at Sarah, who stood there snapping her bubble gum on some infinite loop. He looked at the woman. “The syntactical nature of reality, the real secret of magic, is that the world is made of words. And if you know the words that the world is made of, you can make of it whatever you wish.”
“Does that mean you’ll take fifty percent off my bill?” the woman asked.
Following a startling burst of noise emanating from his sink, area man Adam Bronkowitz realized that he had once again chosen to flick the garbage disposal switch instead of the kitchen light switch as originally intended.
“I just wanted to get a little bit more light to see if there were any Frosted Mini-Wheats left in the box,” he said, still shaken up from the incident.
Brokowitz has lived in his one bedroom apartment for 7 years, giving him ample time to memorize what switch does what.
“You’d think I would have learned by now,” he said chuckling to himself. “Good thing I wasn’t trying to pry something out of there!”
Bronkowitz proceeded to open the refrigerator and place the empty box of Frosted Mini-Wheats on the top shelf.
KONKDADDY 