My hair is partially pink right now due to Operation Pink Hair (see the blog Operation Pink Hair). It’s only partially pink because, regrettably, my arms are not long enough nor do they articulate in such a way as to be able to easily apply hair dye to the back of my head. Stupid fail arms. Someone should make robotic arm extensions, or better yet, hair-dying robots that will dye the back of my head pink. I guess technically, they’re called hair stylists, but making an appointment and sitting there talking to strangers while I wait to pay for pinkness doesn’t sound like much fun to me. Besides, we need more robots.
Generally speaking, in the eyes of complete strangers, I am not cuddly, friendly, approachable or welcoming. In fact, I tend to be quite the opposite. I know this because I’ve been told as much by former complete strangers who are now not strangers enough to feel comfortable telling me things like that. If I put out “vibes” that I don’t want to talk to anyone, then odds are, I won’t have to have awkward conversations about the weather with total strangers while waiting in line. It keeps the riffraff away. People tend to steer clear of me; I usually prefer it that way.
That is not to say that that is actually how I am. That’s just my public persona. I am really quite goofy if you get to know me. If I am under-slept, which is almost all of the time, I become slaphappy. I start making up words and singing stupid songs for no reason. This effect is increased tenfold under fluorescent lighting. Fluorescent lights are my Achilles’ heel; they put a hole in my tough guy facade quicker than a speeding bullet. Take me to a grocery store or the like and I become downright silly, putting random products on my head and doing little dances.
To be perfectly honest, my public persona was originally crafted to cover up the fact that, for most of my life, I was debilitatingly shy. There was a time when people scared the shit out of me. One day, around high school age, I consciously decided not to give a fuck what they thought anymore. It took a lot of effort, but I’ve been much happier since. However, that old don’t-talk-to-me attitude stuck around. Nowadays, I generally don’t engage in conversation with strangers not because I’m shy, but because I don’t care. Most of them are among the American Idol drooling masses anyway. Oh, there goes my generalizing snobbery again. Sorry about that. I am still basically a shy and taciturn person, I just deal with it and hide it a lot better now.
Yesterday afternoon, I was blundering around in public, not quite slaphappy yet, in search of some item that I really needed and I noticed that people were nicer to me than usual. It has got to be the pink hair. I can think of no other explanation as to why total strangers would spontaneously change the way they react to me. Four strangers from all walks of life actually smiled at me. One of them was a little old lady. Little old ladies are not supposed to smile at me. Some twenty-something yelled, “Your hair is so cute!!” at me across a crowded restaurant. What the hell? Cute!? Am I now cute and cuddly? Am I approachable? Will I have to have conversations with strangers from now on?
I’d hate to think that a facade that I’ve spent years, decades even, cultivating could be destroyed so easily by a few strands of pink, but if that’s the way it is, so be it. I’ll be the New & Improved Friendly Goldfish – Now 33% More Approachable!! Booo.