So yes world, I get it. I have a weird name. Blame my mom. Seriously.
Short story of where my name came from- it's Swedish for Donald Duck. Longish story- Mom was reading Sports Illustrated in the summer of '85 and saw a story about Swedish tennis player, Bjorn Borg. It mentioned how the kids under 12 were staying at a camp named after the camp sponsor, Kalle Anka, which means Donald Duck comic books. I guess Mom decided I was going to not only become a boy, but a Swedish tennis prodigy boy at that, so she decided to name me after the sponsor. Or maybe she just thought I would spend my life babbling incoherently and never wear pants. Maybe she was onto something...
Ever since Mom's stroke of genius, I've had a lifetime of explaining that it's K-AL-EE, not Kelly or Kaylee and I've always had to spell it out for orders over the phone, reservations at a restaurant, everywhere. So that brings us up to speed and takes us to present day.
Today I had a hair appointment at Ulta. I walk in and there are two girls, one with blue, one with pink stripes in their hair. One is on the phone, one is doing nothing. Both look up and notice me, neither do anything. I don't respond well to being ignored so I sigh and put my purse on their counter. Blue Hair asks what my name is, so I tell her. "Kallie Parsons." She nods and starts to leave a message for whoever she'd been calling. I browse nail polishes aimlessly until she says "I'm sorry, you said it was Sasha?"
"Uhmm no, Kal-lie."
"Oh ok.....uhmmm is it Leah Jannoitz?"
"NO! KALLIE PARSONS."
"OH! Uhmmm uhhh, oh here it is, your name is weird!"
"Excuse me?"
"They spelled it weird in here, sorry it's spelled wrong, that's why I couldn't find it. They spelled it weird."
"You haven't even asked me how to spell it, how do you know it's misspelled? What if that's how I spell my name?!"
"Oh it's K-A-L-L-I-E. So weird!"
"That's how I spell my name. Did you really just tell me that my name is weird and wrong!?!"
"No, I didn't mean that..."
"Maybe I should go get my hair cut somewhere else!..."
"No, no, I'm sorry..."
"Whatever."
So with Blue Hair insulting my name, I'm now Captain Grumpers. If you have never been to a salon at Ulta, it's not like a normal salon. Ulta is essentially a makeup grocery store. So there's not a big waiting area or anything. There's just products and a store all around. So I started browsing random things that I really have no intention of buying, but they're nearby and I don't think I'll have to wait long. I see my stylist come around the corner with a guy who is talking her ear off. The stylists always walk their clients to the counter to check out, so I'm glad to see she's almost ready for me.
Mr. Chatty is a big Hawaiian looking guy. Pacific Islander at least. He's a chatterbox. This is coming from a chatterbox herself, this guy talks too much. I'm not listening to anything really, just annoy-edly browsing philosophy body washes waiting for him to shut the hell up and let me have my appointment time. Then suddenly I hear my stylist say "This coming from the guy who almost killed his brother." HELLO CONVERSATION! I'm all ears!
So now that I'm listening, he proceeds to tell Blue Hair the story of the time he almost killed his brother. It started out "Yeah, I almost chopped his head off!" My brain puts on the brakes and calls bullshit. But I tell my brain to be quiet because I know it's bullshit and I want to hear the rest of this imaginary story he's telling to impress girls. The story continued that one night at 3AM, his drunk brother had forgotten his keys to the house and had broken in via a window. Mr. Chatty woke up and heard this ruckus and grabbed his SWORD. My brain tells me, "Well no shit he has a sword, he's Asian, he's probably a ninja too!" This is because I work well with stereotypes. In fact I think they are a real timesaver.
Anyway, Mr. Chatty is now telling them that he was standing at the edge of his doorway and he's poised, ready to "chop the burglar's head off." He explains he HAD to arm himself with the sword since he doesn't know what the burglar is armed with. "I mean, he could have had a gun, but if I chopped his head off with my sword, he'd have no time to react." WHAT?! Maybe he really is a ninja! No, of course not, this is bullshit. But let's look at this scenario. Since when is a sword WAY better protection than a gun? If someone wanted to kill me and jumped out of the dark with a sword, I'd be like WTF do you have a sword for? Is this Kill Bill? Then run away while they chased me and tried to slash me with their sword. Now if they had a gun, I would run away immediately and probably be shot as I was running. They wouldn't even have to move. Guns>Swords.
He brags some more about how great his sword skills are and when Blue Hair gets bored enough to ask him what stopped him from chopping his brother's head off, he tells her "He made a grunt." HE MADE A FUCKING GRUNT. Grunting is NOT a recognizable trait! If I hear a grunt, it could be a bear, it could be a dinosaur, it could be my sister, or it could be a burglar. A guttural noise is not something I know instantly as belonging to a specific person. It is at this point when I realize that this douche is completely full of shit and the real story is he was probably lying motionless in bed hoping that the burglar was a T-Rex and it's vision was based on movement and he would remain unnoticed if he continued to stay perfectly still. Thankfully, this is when Pink Hair tells me I can go get settled in my stylists chair.
Of course it takes Mr. Chatty another 5 minutes to finally put away his fake stories and leave, during which two people come by and apologize for the wait. Later during my shampoo my stylist tells me that he likes to tell everyone he's "a professional drug dealer" because he works in a pharmacy. This douchey tid-bit seals it for me that he really is completely full of shit. So now I'm not Captain Grumpers anymore because I've successfully debunked a douchebag in my head, and I'm always proud when I prove people wrong, even if it's just secretly.
Douchebags never prosper.
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