I used to walk to school. I hated the bus, the kids were always so cliquey. I was one of three Punks in my junior high school, at least the ones who looked it so I wasn’t very popular in the beginning. I guess I should fill in the blanks here...

I moved from Warminster to Warrington during the summer of ’83. In Warminster the kids were still about late seventies rock and the “cool” ones were about the Sugar Hill Gang. I couldn’t really get with either one. I had a thing for the Kinks and I was definitely impressed with Van Halen but the Punk stuff my dad was listening to was so new and perfect. When I moved to Warrington I met CJM, he was just getting into bands like the Sex Pistols and the Dead Kennedys through some other kids he knew from the city. I jumped right on that. I thought only people my dad’s age were listening to Punk so hearing another 14 year old playing it ruled. I remember the first haircut I got that summer, it had to be something new, it had to be Punk. No more parted in the middle feathered back on the sides. There was this hair stylist at the local strip mall that CJM was fully hung up on. She really was hot and she was from the UK so the accent was perfect at that time. I figured this chick had to know what I needed.

I sat down in the chair and she put the smock over me while asking what kind of cut I was looking for. You would figure that would be the perfect time for an answer right? Any man reading this knows that was impossible. Here I am this 14 year old wanna-be Punk looking at this extremely cute, English hair dresser… I’ve already completely undressed her in my head, I’ve fully consumed her perfume and thank God for the smock if you know what I mean –how the hell can I answer the question? She smirked a bit, shook her head with a smile and started cutting. I was fully in fantasy land watching her circle around me running her fingers through my hair. By the time she was done I was totally out of it. I consider that my first sexual experience just so you know. At that moment, I loved my hair. It took only my walk back home and into the bathroom to realize that I fully had a “New Wave Dave” thing going on. I wanted it off, but I didn’t want anyone to think the stylist fucked up so I dealt with it.

School started a week later and I thought I would never hear the end of it. Aside from the other two Punks who really only had your basic eighties spikes, no one looked the slightest bit out of the ordinary. I walked in on future CB West football heroes and seventies throwback dirtballs looking like I played the keyboards for Howard Jones. That first week I dealt with relentless torture from the jocks and dirtballs, humiliating laughter from all the popular girls and dirty looks from the teacher’s aids. It couldn’t be more perfect. Friday afternoon came and I couldn’t wait for my dad to come over and drop that sweet con-money in my hands –I went directly to the drug store, bought a box of jet black hair dye dumped in my hair and started cutting. After some tough maneuvering of the hand held mirror, I emerged with a black hacked very wide Mohawk. I couldn’t wait for Monday.

Tesco only has good hair days now. Archives

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