A man sat in my chair and wanted “something in between a longhair and a marine.” This made me laugh (he was nowhere near what I could a longhair), so he started to tell me his story.
He had been a marine reserve back in the ’60s, and at the time, he actually was a longhair. Apparently since he was only in uniform one weekend a month, he kept it and wore a wig. Nobody knew, of course, and he was somehow able to get away with it for some time. Until one day, the superior officer ordered the regimen to go “handle” some protesters. The regimen had had enough, and someone in the back yelled “Fuck you!” That was all it took, and the troop erupted in chaos. My future client went ahead and walked out. As he was passing the General* that was just arriving, my client took off his wig, shook his luxurious locks, and threw the wig at the general. The general just stood there flabbergasted. So my client and his friends took the general’s jeep and went joyriding.
“Didn’t you get in trouble?” I asked. But according to my client, “Nixon was president, so shit like this happened all the time. If it had been any other time, I’d be in a federal penitentiary.”
I finished up his cut, making sure he would never be mistaken for “one of those bastard marines,” and he promised to come back and tell me more stories.
*I don’t remember if it was actually a general. Point is, it was some really high ranking official.