It’s the struggle of a lifetime, finding a balance between standing out and fitting in. I’ve always veered on the side of “I’m going to do what I want, how I want, and when I want” — but I’ve paid the price multiple times. One of the first jobs I got in LA, while I was still trying to find my footing in the film industry, was on a food truck. Ice cream, to be exact. Like every other basic bitch in the world, I was obsessed with the unicorn hair trend. Pink, purple, blue, grey, silver, white — more colors than I can count.
The food truck dude hired me with purple hair, although it had faded into a subtle pastel lavender by then. A few weeks later I went into the salon for a re-touch. AKA the stylist literally dumped a whole jar of Manic Panic’s Electric Amethyst color on my head for the boldest possible outcome. The next day, my boss looked at me like he’d seen a ghost. A purple ghost. He pulled me aside and told me that if I didn’t change my hair by tomorrow, I’d be fired.
What the fuck crawled up his ass so suddenly? He hired me with purple hair, then threatened to fire me. He said that he thought it was just a “one-time thing” and I was going to “let it fade completely and go back to blonde.” I immediately had torturous visions of grabbing the closest ice cream scooper and digging it into his eye sockets. How’s that for spectacular customer service? Being the catty cunt that I am, I asked for suggestions as to how the fuck I should “change my hair” within 24 hours.
I’m not even kidding when I say this — he basically ordered me to go back to the hair salon and dye it black. Because black is a “natural color, at least.” Look, I’m the most chill, down-to-earth person…until I’m not. I never scream, I never yell. I use words like my two defense attorney parents taught me. “If you want me to change my hair, you’re going to have to pay for it. I’m leaving for the day. Text me once you deposit $100 into my account and I’ll go to the salon.”
You may recall in my About Me section that I mention a “bad attitude.” Does this qualify? I’m scooping motherfucking ice cream for $9 an hour and you’re giving me shit about purple hair? Nah, I’m out. I never heard from that guy again. I’ve done a little growing up since then. But just a little. Once a catty bitch, always a catty bitch — to some extent.
Quitting a bullshit food truck job was a no-brainer. But as I climbed the ladder and moved onto jobs with legitimate salaries and benefits, it became much harder to fight the system. I needed to pay rent, car insurance, phone bills, groceries, gas, etc. At 25-years old I’m still finding ways to fight the system, like flipping my septum barbell upside down and hiding it in my nostrils in front of certain clients. I compare it to a mullet — business in the back, party in the front.
Some people take direction well and prefer the routine 9-5 schedule. Nothing wrong with that. But if I haven’t adjusted to “the system” by now, will I ever? Not everyone is meant to work in an office every single day and abide to the dress code. David said he would never take a job that forced him to shave his beard, and I completely understand. There’s an unlimited amount of freedom that comes with being your own boss. Your own schedule, inside your own home. Or whatever hipster coffee shop you want to work from.