Every year, over winter break, I grow a beard. The tradition started in The City, where the cold winters discouraged any unnecessary shaving. Why expose my face to the sub-freezing weather when there were no workplace faces to be seen?
This year, after some discussion with a coworker, a pact was made to grow out our mustaches over winter break, and then surprise our colleagues on our first day back at work. That day was today.
In the past I have had every manner of facial hair, from soul patches to goatees to full beards. Never before have I had a mustache. The reason was two-fold: One, my dad has a mustache. Two, I’ve always thought mustaches look either silly or sleazy on younger men.
Despite these two reasons, I kept to my pact and shaved my winter break beard into a stylish mustache. Too chicken to go the full monty, I left a little flavor saver under my bottom lip. The result was hilarious. I laughed so hard when I saw the final product in the bathroom mirror that Shawn came in to see what was the matter. When I showed her my ‘stache, she was amused in the “husbands will be husbands” kind-of-way.
At work, I received a variety of reactions, most of which placed me into some ethnic group. I was told I looked like a Colombian coffee farmer, a Frenchman, Clark Gable, Borat, and an British Inspector. I grasped on to this last one as my alter ego for the life of my mustache.
Ladies and gentlemen, I would like to introduce Inspector Overcast, of Scotland Yard:
This year, after some discussion with a coworker, a pact was made to grow out our mustaches over winter break, and then surprise our colleagues on our first day back at work. That day was today.
In the past I have had every manner of facial hair, from soul patches to goatees to full beards. Never before have I had a mustache. The reason was two-fold: One, my dad has a mustache. Two, I’ve always thought mustaches look either silly or sleazy on younger men.
Despite these two reasons, I kept to my pact and shaved my winter break beard into a stylish mustache. Too chicken to go the full monty, I left a little flavor saver under my bottom lip. The result was hilarious. I laughed so hard when I saw the final product in the bathroom mirror that Shawn came in to see what was the matter. When I showed her my ‘stache, she was amused in the “husbands will be husbands” kind-of-way.
At work, I received a variety of reactions, most of which placed me into some ethnic group. I was told I looked like a Colombian coffee farmer, a Frenchman, Clark Gable, Borat, and an British Inspector. I grasped on to this last one as my alter ego for the life of my mustache.
Ladies and gentlemen, I would like to introduce Inspector Overcast, of Scotland Yard:
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