I just saw an ad on TV for a ‘Blow Dry Bar’. At first I thought it was some sort of sick joke, then I thought it was an actual sidle-up-to-the-bar-and-order-a-whiskey-and-while-you’re-at-it-blow-dry-my-hair kind of place, because the commercial showed all these women getting their hair poofed out by other women holding industrial strength blow dryers. My brain began to throb in confusion. Usually it only throbs when I have to find a word that rhymes with ‘titillate’.
When the commercial was over, my initial reaction was to run to my PC and Google ‘blow dry bar’. I just couldn’t wrap my head around a saloon/salon type of place. What if the client gets sloshed and wobbles in her chair? Her hairdo would end up looking like a relief map of North America. Instead, I called my sister Marie, who’s been a cosmetologist all her life. Seriously. She came out of the womb with a pair of scissors and a brush. Poor mom. Actually, when she told me for the first time that she was a cosmetologist, I asked her if she had any idea what the rings of Saturn were made of. Imagine my shock when she said those type of people were called cosmologists. Imagine someone trying to give Jupiter a crew cut. Anyway, I asked my sis what the heck a ‘blow dry bar’ was, and she told me it is a place where women go to get their hair washed and then blow dried. That’s it. No margaritas, no banana schnapps, no cute little umbrellas. Can you believe it? I’ve got pretty long hair, so I could actually be driving down the street and say to myself “Self, I think I’m going to let someone else wash my hair today, and while she’s at it, she can give me a Dee Snider Twisted Sister look.”
Well, I took my original reaction, clothed it in curiosity, went to the internet and found a place called Drybar. It’s motto is “No cuts. No color. Just blowouts.” I actually had the guts to take a virtual tour of the place, but I won’t share the details. It’s just too hideous to explain. And this is coming from the guy who wrote the most graphic horror novel (shameless plug: OOBERS: Kalamazoo, folks) in the history of literature. The most frightening thing in the website is that they charge ‘ONLY’ $40. Holy Moley to the tenth power! I could think of about five thousand different ways to spend $40 on something other than a wash and dry.
You know, in today’s world if you want to make a splash, if you want to get noticed, if you want to be filthy rich (at least until the IRS gets hold of you), you have to come up with some idea that’s unique, something no one’s ever done before. That’s hard to do, because pretty much everything’s been tried already. So after I had my little freakout over the whole blow dry bar thing, I took a step back and thought about it. I really had to give them credit for pulling it off. Hey, there are plenty of people out there with nothing better to do than spend $40 on a hair wash and blow dry. That means they might be just as willing to spend their moolah on some other outlandish thing. That’s when the gears started spinning in my head. If you don’t know me by now, I’ll give you a heads up. When the gears start spinning in my head, it’s time to sprint for the hills. Seriously.
After a few seconds of spinning (my brain spins pretty fast) I came up with an idea. Actually, a few of them. Now, before I disclose these unique and fabulous schemes, I’m bound by the gypsy copyright laws to inform you I’ve already mailed these ideas to myself. If I find out someone’s stolen one of my babies, I’ll take my envelope to the nearest judge, rip it open and hope I remembered to put a date on the paper. So, you’ve been warned. How about this for brainstorming? I’m going to open a booger retrieval service. Yep. Boogers. Snot. Nose Candy. Snot Rockets. Goobers. Don’t get all spiritual on me. You know you get ’em. All the time. And they always make their appearance at the most inappropriate time. Like when you’re on a date, or at church, or in the supermarket, or in the middle of a big presentation, or when the preacher comes to visit, and especially when you’re in traffic. Well, you can just call . . . I think I’ll name it the “Boogie Noogie Bugle Boys Excavation Service.” I know, it’s a snoot-full, but it’s catchy and even has its own song that’s guaranteed to get your toes tapping and stick in your brain. You don’t come to us. Just call and we’ll go to where you are and pick out that offending boogie. The best part is that it only costs $5 per nugget. That’s a miniscule price to pay for saving your reputation.
Once that business gets off the ground, I’m going to start a new business venture. Dingleberry removal. Visualize it. Now try to get that visual out of your head. See? Pure genius!
Beans on the Grill 