Seemed like a good idea at the time—Drust’s surreal life

By Bill Drust
Collegian Staff
April 5, 2006

It’s funny how the simplest activities can lead to the most surreal experiences sometimes. That is exactly what happened as I decided to get a haircut this past Saturday, when I paid someone in Philadelphia to tend to my luscious locks for the first time. I didn’t take the matter lightly.

All right, I took it kind of lightly. Given the fact that I didn’t feel much like driving anywhere, I decided to take the subway to South Street and amble into the first place advertising haircutting capabilities.

Now I would have been willing to go it alone, but there’s nothing wrong with assembling a haircut posse. So, I enlisted the aid of my trusty housemate, Anthony Chwastyk and his better half, Pam McDonald.

I was informed that there was a Supercuts salon on South Street, so we made that our tentative destination. At some point during the journey, the couple made it apparent to me that having some sort of dinner was probably going to be necessary. I hadn’t thought of this, but I quickly came to terms with the night being longer than anticipated. This should have been my first clue that things were not going to be happening according to my plans on this particular evening.

We arrived at Supercuts 11 minutes before closing. I asked the person at the desk if I could get a haircut. After thinking it over for a few moments, she said “Yes.” I was quickly handed over to hairdresser Kim Le. She and I both knew there were to be obstacles during this exchange of services.

First, there was the obvious problem of my lateness. We had about eight or nine minutes left at this point. There was also the problem of me not having any idea what kind of haircut I wanted. Frantically, she pointed to pictures on the walls until I saw one I thought was a reasonably good choice. Then, she tried to make some small talk with me. It wasn’t working out, and it was pretty clear that our lack of normal salon camaraderie was yet another obstacle. Quickly recovering, Kim turned to the task at hand. Until the end, all we talked about was the haircut; she would ask me something and I would tell her to do whatever she thought was best. In the end, I think all turned out well. Supercuts and Kim Le come with a high recommendation for those in need of a speedy and well-performed haircut.

With the main order of business out of the way, my two friends and I were ready to tackle the problem of scrounging up sustenance. After walking a bit, we noticed Kildare’s Public House. We decided to see what the Irish bar and restaurant had to offer.

When the food finally arrived, it was pretty good (see Carrie Caine’s review). Everything else about the place, though, was not so good. Our waiter was almost embarrassingly friendly.

“Can I take your order?” he asked after having taken it about 15 or 20 minutes earlier. He soon followed with, “Just joking.”

If he could have foreseen the comedy of errors that would surround our food’s journey from the kitchen to our table, he probably would have held back with his I’m-a-really-good-waiter joke. Let’s just say there were plenty of mix-ups involving salads, waters and ketchups. It didn’t help that all of this was taking place while the sound of loud and poorly-recorded Irish music permeated the place. However, like I said, I wasn’t hungry after I left, so I suppose it was worth it.

Both the haircut and dinner seem like pretty tame stories, and indeed, they are merely a warm-up. Still looking for more good times, we three made our way to Mako’s, a corner bar. I have to say that this place definitely wins points for its very eclectic nature. It looks like a bar for surfers, with surf boards and sharks on the wall and a clothesline adorned with bras apparently left by patrons. But then, you look at the employees. The bar is run by an elite team of emo kids and people who look vaguely European. Underneath all of the visual spectacle is the sound of extremely loud pop-punk, wimp-metal music from the schoolyard—you know, the music where 30-year-olds whine about homework and the 13-year-olds cry until their parents finally break down and buy the CD for them.

Anyway, we had sat down and began enjoying everything when I noticed the lady of the group seemed to have picked up on something highly entertaining in her field of vision. I turned around to see what it was. That’s when our eyes met. It was a neighborhood gentleman decked out in the famous garb of reality television star Flavor Flav, complete with the Viking helmet and the clock dangling on his neck. The man proceeded to put on quite the show for some time. He danced up a storm across the bar while everyone watched in amazement.

Oftentimes, “Flav” (as we will call him) would hold his clock up to the establishment’s clock for comparison. I’m not sure if he thought his was better. At one point he poured beer all over the clock, himself and the floor. He was either upset with his clock or toasting it. I thought this would get him kicked out for sure, but no one seemed to mind. They wouldn’t have been able to catch him anyway, as he was constantly running out the door between the bar and the sidewalk. I wanted to learn more about this enigmatic faux-Flav, but after getting our picture taken together, all he would offer in terms of conversation was to comically ask what time it was. Get it?

I may not have believed any of this really happened had it not been for the two other people in the group and their ability to corroborate the story. Furthermore, there was a surprise guest appearance by former Collegian editor Kevin Hyslop, which added to the outlandishness of the night. As another witness, he is most powerful—I would never deny any claim made by this man.

It’s possible that I haven’t been to South Street enough times in my tenure as a Philadelphian. I believe many might consider this night to be a fairly trivial experience. However, for me, it definitely rates somewhere in my personal top five list of strangest nights in the city. So next time you decide to get a haircut, don’t say I didn’t warn you.

drustw1@lasalle.edu