Big Hair!

Stellar entertainment in the hair salon this afternoon.
As I was having all my split-ends lopped off, a man strode in and sat himself - with emphasis - on the seat next to mine.
He had a military cut, perhaps half an inch of hair on his head, and his temples were receding. There wasn't much of anything up there. Which was maybe why he had such an impact when he declared (in stentorian tones WITH audible exclamation marks) "I want VOLUME!"
He peered at the mirror, tweezing his diminuitive coiffure skyward, and turned to stare sternly at his stylist, who was biting her lip.
My hairdresser was quivering.

Then he chose the brushes.  His stylist voted for a comb.  He waved it sternly away and demanded a roller brush.  Three inch diameter, the sort you use when you're coiffing Farrah Fawcett or Miss Universe.
Six or seven brushes later, he and the stylist compromised on a one and a half inch roller.
Both stylists were making muffled snorting noises now.
            "Do you have any mousse?"  The man demanded.
            "No no no!  Don't do it like that!  Like THIS!"
He snatched the aerosol from her hand and dabbing dots of foam all over his head, he proceeded to style his OWN hair, looking sternly at his stylist every few seconds to make sure she was paying attention.
Then he left, completely satisfied, looking exactly the same as when he came in.

He tipped, too.