Look out Wisconsin, I am now a canvasser for PBS! I know where you live and I will be knocking on your door asking for money. Just wait until you hear my impassioned speech about how, in the modern age, public television is almost as important as public libraries. At the start of the day, however, I was not so sure I would be writing this victorious blog post. I was so anxious about the interview that I did not sleep hardly a wink last night. I felt horribly about tossing and turning all night next to my fiance, Jake, so around 4am I moved to the couch. Then, when I woke up (AKA- gave up on the possibility of sleep), I was painfully aware of the amount of hair on my head. Between getting all my ducks in a row for graduation, final exams, moving across the state, and desperately trying to find a job, I have not had a spare moment to get a haircut. I didn’t even want to schedule an appointment, because I wanted my availability to be wide open if I should be offered a job. So, knowing deep in my heart that this was a terrible idea, I set out to the nearest walk-in haircut place to get a trim before my interview. I told myself, “No one is going to hire you with such flippy-dippy, shaggy hair. Sure, this haircut probably won’t be the best, but any haircut is better than this mop.” I was wrong. I was so horrifically wrong. I went in and the lady’s hands were shaking as she cut my hair. She snipped without care. She snipped without abandon. I watched as hair piled up about me. She had told me that she was going to trim between half an inch and a full inch, but the hair on the ground was closer to two or three inches. I held my breath and held back tears as the finished product came into view. She cut my hair so straight, boxy, and square, that I looked like a little boy. I may as well have been wearing a sailor suit and holding an oversized lollypop. I asked her to add some texture, and she say, “Thin it out! Okay!” Again, I held my breath as even more of my hair leapt from my head. After she finished it did look better, but it was very obvious that she cut one side an inch shorter than the other. I almost asked her to fix it, but I figured that there is a finite amount of hair on my head, and I would really like some hair left on my head for when go to an actual salon to have a competent hair stylist fix this mess. Point of the story is, despite the worst hair day in the history of all time, I still got the job, and that is pretty damn impressive in my book.