I applied for cosmetology class when I was in high school. No one questioned it at all because not only was I a blatantly obvious nerd but I was also the only openly gay guy in the school. First day I’m told to meet in a room I didn’t even know existed. Fucking mirrors everywhere. Circular tables around the mirrors with decapitated heads for as far as the eye could see, all with horrific hairstyles and blank, expressionless faces. Went in. Sat down. Realized I was the only one in the room with a set of testicles and started to slowly piece together where I done majorly goofed.
Class was surprisingly good. I can french braid now. I did fail however because the teacher hated me. Not only was I gay, which she didn’t like, but I wasn’t a “stereotypical” gay guy which she somehow found more infuriating. A dude who didn’t come off as particularly effeminate but was comfortable enough doing peoples hair. 2 weeks before the final class she ‘lost’ my module and expected me to make up the entirety of the semesters work in 2 weeks. All worked out. She broke her ankle the next year after someone got berated so hard they pissed themselves. Janitor was on the way to clean it up, she wasn’t looking where she was going, and slipped in it and fell down a nearby set of stairs.