Tag Archives: work

#42 The Storytime Haircutter

I'm not just a hair stylist...I'm also annoying!

I'm not just a hair stylist...I'm also annoying!

Look, no one likes getting their hair cut at Supercuts. The quality sucks, the mood is shitty, and usually Lupe doesn’t speak English, so you’re not even sure if she understands how you want it cut. But a majority of us still do it because it’s cheap, quick, and quiet.

But The Storytime Haircutter aims to rob you of that precious silence. Sure, she’ll throw in the cheap and shitty part of the haircut, but fuck you — she’s got some stories to tell.

Have you heard about her kids and Myspace? They’re always on it and she doesn’t approve. Oh, and this one time, she caught her niece’s Myspace profile, and-and she was wearing these like super short skirts. And so she’s like “MMmm, girl…I’m telling your momma!” Please! Tell me more!!

Like a Homeless Person asking for change, the SH will never stop; even if you’re unresponsive or don’t make eye contact. They’re relentless, and as long as you’re trapped in that little seat, they plan on raping you eardrums.

You see, the Storytime Haircutter doesn’t play by the rules. They don’t ask you about YOUR day, they TELL you about theirs. It’s forced role reversal — like paying a Plumber to shit on your floor. And that’s just rude.

You're stories make me want to cut myself

You're stories make me want to cut myself

Instead, I’m treated with the pleasure of a story about how you were stalked by a customer at Koo Koo Roo. Delightful. Oh. No…I actually haven’t had the salad bar at Sizzler. It’s good? OK, well if you say so.

Much like their close counterparts, The Airplane Talker and The Douchebag Dentist (how am I supposed to answer your question when your fingers are in my mouth?!) — the Storytime Haircutter lacks total self-awareness. Despite the fact that you’re PAYING them to cut your hair, they don’t focus on haircutting, they focus on talking. Shitty stories and awful analogies. You know what, forget me. Let’s put those scissors on auto-pilot and hear more about how your father worked in a Pillow Factory.

You should be warned, though — much like Melanoma, the Storytime Haircutter is not someone you should take lightly. You feed too much into their story, and your head will come out looking like a cross-breed between Alfalfa and a newly turned lesbian.

If you have the unfortunate luck of falling victim to a Storytime Haircutter, don’t panic! At the beginning of the cut, tell them the the IPP tried-and-true story: “Yeah, it’s weird. My Dad’s in jail for a pretty brutal haircutting accident. But oh well, he’ll be out in a couple months, so that’s good. …I’m sorry, you were saying something?”
Also Known As: Gabby, The Haircut From Hell, Chatty Kathy, Henifer Lopez, The Supercut Sham, Nights in Rodanthe, The Neverending Story IV, Getting Scissored
Related: The Airplane Talker, The “Let Me Tell You About My Day Guy”



Filed under annoying people, awful, haircuts, idiot accessories, work

#23 The Fake Friend

Oh my god, you look soooo cute!
“Oh my God, Theenk you sooooooooo much!”

There is no one as transparent and flaky as the Fake Friend. Having a party? She’ll totally be there! But don’t hold your breath, because she won’t be.

The Fake Friend is the first to call you her BFF, and the last person to actually do anything BFF-related. It’s like a penis in a porn scene: all excited and spunky, but as soon as it’s business is done, it’s flaccid and out the door.

Because the Fake Friend serves only one purpose, to butter you up. They will tell you everything you want to hear, and then some. Much like their Hollywood idols, they function on a “what can you do for me” basis, whereas the point of their conversation is to either: (1) Get something out of you, or (2) If not #1, end the conversation as quickly as possible.

Like a chameleon of uselessness, the Fake Friend appears in two main forms: the “acquaintance“, and the “newly-met BFF“. You’ve known the acquaintance Fake Friend for years, and at this point, you’ve come to expect nothing but shit-eating smiles and sunshine out of her ass. But the Newly-met Fake Friend a sneaky pawn. It could be anyone. At a party, in the office, and more often, working the sales floor at your favorite shopping destination.

To catch a FF is not difficult. Here are a few key phrases:

OMG, look at all the money I spent!“Oh my God, I love you!”
“Oh my God, That handbag is soooo cute!”
“Oh my God, I can’t wait to see you this weekend!”

Pretty much anything snarky preempted with an “oh my God!” should give you an idea of who you’re dealing with.

Don’t get me wrong, everyone has their fake moments — pretending to not despise that annoying coworker, biting your tongue around an whorish ex-girlfriend, telling your fat friend she looks “stunning”. These are the everyday lies that hold together society. But to the Fake Friend, there is no “sometimes”. Every moment is part of a transparent, over-the-top show.

You can find the Fake Friend in large quanities in Los Angeles and New York City, although Fake Friends are scattered throughout the world and in every major Retail Outlet. The Fake Friend will more than likely be an attractive female, coming from a life of affluence and ease. Although rare, a Fake Friend can be a male, although he would typically just be a Douchebag, or in LA, your Agent.

When you come in contact with a Fake Friend, especially an acquaintance that you know as a Fake Friend, beat her to the punch. Get your voice high pitched and overly excited, and tell her “Oh my God, you look soooo cute!”. Then, before she has time to react, point to someone across the room and say, “Ooh my god, I just have to talk to Becky. I’ll see you later, okaay?!!” And then leave her there in a hurricane of fake friendery. If you’re lucky, her head will explode.
Also Known As: The Flake, The Nevershow, Your New BFF, The Award for Best Actress in a Conversation, OMG Overkill, The Wicked Witch of Your World

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Filed under douche, entertainment, friends, los angeles, new york city, work

#20 The Starbucks Writer

Look at me!  I\'m Writing!!
“Look at me, I’m writing!”

With the exception of Reality Show Contestants, there is no dreamer as desperate for attention as the Starbucks Writer. They’ll weave a public web of notes, script pages, and laptop accessories in an attempt to catch any wandering eye, and in turn, become a Hollywood star.

The Starbucks Writer will almost always be a disheveled, struggling hipster. They’ve heard J.K. Rowling’s story of poverty and struggle, and this is their nonfat-soy-latte version of that. They take great pride in “working” publicly. Ironically, they lack just enough pride to get a real job and write at home.

I worked for three years on this scriptAlthough they are an aspiring writer, they’ve already succeeded in being a total donkeyboner. They’ve taken up the last available seat, bogarted the power outlet, and hoarded two tables for their script-page collage. Their loitering puts out a clear message to other Coffee Shop Patrons: “I’m here, so go f*** yourself”

If you ask a Starbucks Writer why they’re writing in a crowded coffee shop, they’ll tell you that “they love the environment”. Sure. Who doesn’t love hearing “Grande Pumpkin Spice Frappaccino for Steve!” every thirty seconds while they’re trying to concentrate. The truth is that the Starbucks Writer is waiting for that Golden Ticket moment — you know, when the Movie Exec. comes over and says, “Hey, you write? You’re perfect!!”

You can find the Starbucks Writer in any coffee shop in Los Angeles, and concentrated around Rockefeller Plaza in New York City. They will most likely be writing a poorly structured screenplay about a broke person that hits the big time (see above).

If you see a Starbucks Writer, your best best is to look away. Just like a homeless person, making eye contact with them is definite no-no. If you initiate contact, they will undoubtably tell you “you’re perfect” for the role they’re writing. You’re not, because they wrote the role for themselves. Just walk away.
Also Known As: The Coffee Shop SpaceWhore, The Ham Writer, Captain Dickshit, The Caffeine Diaries, Lowfat Soy Screenwriter, The Barista Novelist


Filed under douche, entertainment, los angeles, new york city, work

#15 The Smeller

Is that perfume?  Or dog shit?
Did someone just open a bag of Cool Ranch Doritos or — Oohh, man!  Who invited the Smeller?!

The Smeller is a notorious, shit-stinking beast.  Like a the body of a prostitute, they carry with them an assortment of smells unknown to the clean human palate.  Moth balls, woodchips, taco meat, grandma…you name it.  If it’s a foul stench, the Smeller will absorb it like a sponge and bring it to your nostrils.

A key trait of the Smeller is their ability to not smell themself.  They go about their daily lives in a blind stupor, oblivious — carrying around stink like a monkey.  

bitch, I live in a trash can!Yet, the Smeller is unique in their stankdom.  They won’t look dirty.  And they’re not homeless.  So is it that they just naturally smell like a jock strap?  Or do they simply not wash their clothes?  Did they just roll around in a pile of cow shit?  Or did they actually steal their wardrobe from their grandfather’s attic?

There are a million questions, and unfortunately, no answers. The only real question you can answer is “Who brought the Smeller?”

One things for sure, it wasn’t you. And such is the curse of the Smeller. They will show up unexpectedly, attacking your senses like a rapist. The Smeller is typically a co-worker or, more often, a peripheral acquaintance — a friend of a friend that somehow loves hanging out with you.

If you find yourself in close quarters with the Smeller, don’t panic. Simply look them in the eyes and say “You smell like taint.”   That should be sufficient to scare them away.  If it doesn’t, just start smelling your fingers and pray for the apocalypse.
Also Known As: Grandma’s Closet, The Living Trashcan, The Stank, Shit’s Creek, Pigpen, Who Invited Stinky?, Ethan’s Surprise, The Shit Whisperer


Filed under awful, freak, friends, stink

#14 The “Let Me Tell You About My Day” Guy

No!  Please don\'t

For some reason, the “Let Me Tell You About My Day” Guy thinks that every aspect of their day is both interesting and conversation-worthy.  Like a pent up volcano, they will spew onto you a wave of personal complaints and useless stories — what their boss said to them, how they flirted with a co-worker, what they had for lunch.  Mundane shit you wouldn’t care about if your own Mother was telling you, let alone this guy.

They will always intitate with “You’ll get a kick out of this”, or “You want to hear something funny?”   But their stories certainly won’t be funny and there’s no “kicks” to be had.

Perhaps the most dangerous trait about the “Let Me Tell You About My Day” Guy is their unpredictability.  You could be hanging out, having a regular conversation, and they unleash.  And that’s it.  They rape away the next thirty minutes of your life.

Sure, you’ll nod and try to make a segway into something else, but they’ll bring it right back to them.  And their day.  It’s like trying to pick up a hot girl with no personality.  Just a lot of “mm hmm’s” and head nodding.  Except there’s no boobs and no potential of sex. 

You can find the “Let Me Tell You About My Day” guy anywhere.  It could be a coworker, a friend, or in the worst of cases, someone you just met.  While this is article is specifically talking about the male succubus, you may also encounter the female version: The “Oy!  Let Me Bitch About What He Said To Me” Girl.  If these two cross paths, there will be a ruthless tornado of timewasting.  Stay clear.
Also Known As:  Buzz Killington, The Time Waster, The “It’s Me Time” Dude, Time Whore, Complainy McDoodypants, The Neverending Story


Filed under awful, douche, friends, parents, work

#9 The Sign Holder

Yeah, you hold that sign
Ever drive by someone on the street and say, “Man, at least my job doesn’t suck that much”.  Most likely, you are talking about the Sign Holder.  They are the obtrusive cross-breed between worker and loiterer — the street-dwelling prostitutes of the advertising world. All they need is a busy corner, a large pointed sign, and a menial paycheck — and they’re set.

The Sign Holder specializes in the pandering of useless products to unsuspecting passerbys. Window tinting, cell phone sales, Quizno’s subs…if it’s a product that won’t sell itself, it’s sign worthy.

Perhaps the most notable characteristic of the Sign Holder is their willingness to be publicly shamed. You will often see them dressed up in ridiculous costumes such as Superman or the Statue of Liberty. It’s a bold move meant to attract attention, but in reality, it’s just a degrading monkeysuit.

Nice outfit buddyAnd talk about job security. Nothing says “irreplaceable” like the ability to have your job made obsolete by a hammer and a nail.

Contrary to what you may expect, however, the Sign Holder is often not an illegal immigrant.  They are generally just people that are too lazy to find a real job (with the occasional crackhead sprinkled in).

Yet, this lack of ambition disappears once the Sign Holder has their sign in hand. This is where they shine. They’ll twirl, spin, flip, and toss that sign in the air.  They’ll do a dance, they’ll point at you, and, if they have to, they’ll doody in their pants. Whatever it takes to make you notice.

You can find the Sign Holder on street corners, outside of tax offices, and occasionally, giving hand jobs for crack.   Sure, they’re getting paid. But who cares? Anyone that hangs out on a street corner for more than 6 hours with a sign is a bum.
Also Known As: The New Sandwichboard, Hobo Got Job, The Sign Twirler, All Signs Point To Douche, A Telephone Pole With A Pulse


Filed under advertising, awful, prostitute, work