Shearing hogs So as I've mentioned before, I work at a salon.  During the summer months it's peak time to have normal sized, real humans come in to get a shorter than their regular haircut to beat the heat. Among them, are the hobgoblins that wobble in to beetus the heat that suffocates them more than usual. Today I had a particularly insulated one that sauntered in, struggling to reach up to make a point to pat its oil covered pancake of a face, breathing like a hog in labor while signing in and practically bending the chair off its hydraulics after wobbling to the back where my station is conveniently located. It, like its dirigible balloon sized cohorts, when asked how it wanted its hair cut, exclaimed "blehI JUS WANIT OFF MUH NECK ITS SOooO HAWWWT OUT"  Imagine my delight trying to cut through sweat soaked, greasy hair that smells like stale pizza and used hockey gear and breathing through my mouth. Need I mention the hump on the back of their neck they all have that you have to dig into hoping the clippers don't get sucked into another dimension. When I asked it to look down, its best effort was useless due to the airbag gullet in the front. After it heaved itself from my chair, it left a snail trail of the devil knows what on the plastic covering. I was so repulsed that I switched my chair out for the empty station's beside mine. No amount of barbicide could bring me to reuse it. Also, I scrubbed my equipment and hands enough to be fit for heart surgery after it lurched away to the bridge it likely lives under.  I can't fucking wait for the autumn.