Actually, let me re-phrase that. Burned by a razor. Re-phrasing again. Bloodied by a razor. Here’s the scrape… er, scoop. Chris and I have griping about the costs of razor blades. It’s ridiculously expensive. Stupidly expensive. These guys have such a corner on the market — we have to shave, or at least groom, and you only have three choices: straight blade by the barber, twin/triple/quad/quattro blades, or electric shave. The first option is just plain dangerous (and if you have trust issues, you are screwed). The second option is overwhelming and verging on ridiculous (really? five blades? it’s a whisker for gods’ sake). And the third option requires so much research, trial and error, that it’s not even worth considering (floating heads, vibrating heads, wet/dry heads… I’m not taking that line of thought any further). You get the point. Now here’s the story.
Chris and I “downgraded” from the Gillette Fusion to the Gillette Mach III. Saves us a bunch of money on blades, and we’re okay with three blades and an aloe strip. Who wouldn’t be? But I didn’t realize that the razor handle had to be switched, as well (gauge my face, gauge my wallet, you’re bleeding me dry, Gillette). So, I hit the road on client business, grab my new blades, only to discover I have no handle to house the blade, or to retrieve it from that incredibly indestructible plastic container for the blades. It’s morning, I have meetings, and I look like shit. So, I bust open the plastic container, pull out a blade by hand, and proceed to shave my face by holding the triple-action blade between my thumb and fore-finger. Oh, did I mention I forgot my shaving cream, as well? Yeah. Good times.
The result? I proceeded to nick my nose while working my upper lip and bleed profusely. We’re talking artery. I tried everything to staunch the bleeding, but to no avail. I finally succeeded in at least slowing the flow with tissue. Yeah, nice. I’m walking down to the hotel lobby for coffee with a nice wad of tissue stuck to my nose. Beautiful. Luckily this was 5:30 AM, and I was able to get it to scab by 7:30 AM, when I headed to the office. Nice, right? “Hi, Ozzy, I’m Alan, and this is my scab. We’re both really happy to meet you.” Yeah, did I mention I’m spending the day with the Prince of Darkness? Working with bloody Ozzy Osbourne with a nose scab. Bloody hell.