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Buying My Costume before/after Getting the hair had been the easy part. It was the annual Halloween party, and I decided to go as a mullet. The Nails and Hair shops in the ghetto usually advertise hair extensions, and this is where I started. So I went to a Hispanic part of town and stopped at a Beauty Supply store. Only Real Hair would do, nothing less. The clerk was Asian, and very stoned. clerk:"You want to be a what?" A:"A mullet. A redneck. Short on top, long in back. The Sho-Low. The Tennessee Waterfall. See what I'm saying?" Clerk:"No." A:"Like NASCAR..." And with that, a light lit up in his eyes. clerk:"Ahh. Like 'Joe Dirt'." Well, sort-of. The clerk had picked up on my zeal, so I was in no mood to argue. He then dug into his three foot deep wall of hair, and matched the hair color to my own. For Halloween, I would don a mullet, and it would be a weave (weaf? That's what the package said. It also contained directions to "wash ereything" at least once a week. So, from heretoforever it is known in the parlance of our times as a 'weaf'.) And I was not done. I needed a shirt. I stopped at Target. The African-American clerk there had no grasp of the situation. clerk:"A...a...what?" A:"A mullet. A sho-lo. A Tennessee Waterfall." clerk:"I'm having trouble picturing what you are saying..." A:"A redneck....like that fellow." (points at a mullet) clerk:"That is a special look..." A:"So I need a T-shirt. One that says 'NASCAR' or wrestling, like 'Stone Cold Steve Austin' or 'No Fear'." Clerk:"I don't think we have anything like that. Try Mervyn's." So I went to Mervyn's. And I found another clerk, who also happened to be African-American, who tried to help me. He was shrewd. He knew what I was talking about, and appreciated the idea. Which, come to think of it, might have helped race relations in my corner of the world an infantesimal bit, as I made fun of what is a notoriously racial stereotype. While we can still laugh, the haters will never win. He got the manager, and explained that I needed a NASCAR, wrestling, or a 'No Fear' t-shirt. The manager was confused, and told me to go to 'GART' sports. clerk: "Sorry, bro." a:"No worries." So I went to GART. There was a white suburbanite sweeping the store, with the store entirely abandoned by consumers. He said he understood, but I looked into his eyes, and he did not share my fervor. clerk:"Like the people who wear wranglers and NASCAR shirts?" a:"Possibly, but not necessarily. They sometimes wear 'No Fear'." clerk:"Ummm. No. Sorry. All of our summer stuff-" a:"-damn it.-" clerk:"-is boxed up in back." (pause) clerk:"Try K-Mart." So I went to K-Mart, and upon entry, was very glad I was not on drugs. Banal, indiscriminate consumerdom. People in strange costumes, slinking around. A very large inflatable Santa, standing in the middle of the aisle for no apparent reason, loomed ominously. And all of the help had a poor command of the English language. Through tedious communication, I was directed towards the men-s t-shirts. I rifled through the rack. This is K-Mart, they have to have a NASCAR shirt. I found one. The last one in the store, as improbable as that sounds. I exclaimed my approval. It had a list of every race of the prior year, celebrating that cultural religion of the mullet world the is the Winston Cup Championship series. And it was on sale. I purchased the shirt, and went home. Time to get dressed and go to the party. Time to wear my faux warm-necked plumage that would be a symbol of my verility. Yes, it was time to don my weaf.
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