Well, tonight I finally gave in and got a haircut. It reminded me that I really hate haircuts. That’s a little strange, because really, I like the feeling of having less hair on my head, especially during the summer, but that benefit doesn’t outweigh the negatives.
You see, I don’t go to a fancy haircut kind of place. No, I go to the place down the street from my house, and every time I go in there, there’s usually someone new and a little frightening, and I’m talking about the employees.
There was this one lady who was kind of huge, and without intending to, a significant portion of her body was always in contact with me while she was cutting my hair. Besides that, she worked me over like she was shearing a lamb (I think she had me in a headlock at one point). Even when she used the trimmers, she did so with incredible force. I could feel all the little plastic teeth of the guard etching along the surface of my skull, knowing that she would draw blood at any moment. I’m pretty sure she viewed haircuts like a race (like roping calves in a rodeo), so the whole haircut only lasted about three minutes. I only had her a couple of times, but I always gave her a good tip (mostly prompted by fear).
There was another lady that looked like Elvira. She stood outside smoking and then walked in behind me. She smelled so strongly of cigarette smoke that I’m pretty sure I’ll get lung cancer in a few years just from the one exposure.
What’s really weirded me out lately is that tonight (and several nights in the past), when the person finished cutting my hair, she asked me how I wore it. Maybe that shouldn’t be strange to me, but it seems like she would remember what it looked like when she started cutting on my hair a few minutes before. I would think that would be helpful information for her while she was cutting my hair, not afterwards.
But probably the worst part about getting a haircut is that I always hope to walk out looking super awesome, like some movie star or something. As if the $12 experience would somehow transform me into some rock-star-looking dude. But instead, I walk out looking like myself, only with a bit less hair.