Hair

I got my hair cut on Friday. Being something you should do every 6 to 8 weeks this is something most men should have down pat early on in the forming years of young adulthood. Not I, for whatever reason I have not been able to settle down and commit to a regular 'hair-cutter-person'. Be it a barber or a 'stylist. There are various reasons for this. Usually due to my geographical moves or hair stylists moving on or just not liking the cut so I seek another barber/stylist. This year I decided to make a definite effort to establish some consistency and have been going to a particular barber every time. Let’s call him Andrew, because that’s the name above the chair. Anyway, my whole point of this is that (are you ready) after going to Andrew 5-6 times consecutively I got a great haircut on Friday. So that’s all this is about. It may not seem like much but you would be surprised how many times I have come home from the barber only to have my (now ex) or a friend fix it for me. Just to drive the case home, allow me to offer you one glaring example.

It was the day where your hair goes from being OK, and in need of a haircut to, crazy I-cannot-leave-the-house-like-this hair. We all know this not a gradual thing. It just happens mysteriously in the middle of the night somewhere between weeks 7 and 8. So, not pleased with the last cut, (see above) I go to a new stylist in my corner shopping complex, all eager to commence a new relationship with a local merchant in my new neighborhood Okay, Okay, it was a Super Clips or Great Cuts or whatever so I was asking for it but still…. So it seems all of the hairdressers are busy so a woman who appeared to be the ‘hostess’ escorted me to the back to wash my hair. I say she was a hostess because she was dressed up like some Chinese dragon lady. Big hair, long nails and glam makeup. She looked more like a madam at a Chinese Brothel. So she washes my hair. Scrubbing the shampoo into my scalp with her 2 inch long dragon-lady nails. Now I think she was doing some serious damage to my scalp. Her nails were making grooves in my scalp and she resumes scrubbing in the same spot, she just kept digging the grooves deeper and deeper. I managed to survive with only grinding a few millimeters of enamel off my teeth only to see her get another dollop of shampoo and start again. And again grinding her nails in the same spot, just a needle on a record finds the groove, her nails slipped right back into the trench she had just dug.. I swear, if we could have looked at my scalp it would have looked like a cat scratching post. And it hurt!

Then she cuts my hair. And I thought the wash was a bad experience. I’ll cut to the chase as this is getting a bit long winded; it was THE WORST haircut of my entire life. Bar none. Seriously, this woman has no business working at a hair salon. Chunks of it were inches longer than others; one side was longer than the other, but only at the back. It is hard to describe it but I looked like some chemo-head post apocalyptic mutant. I just paid and got out of there as quick as possible. I considered exercising my consumer rights to get them to fix it but I just did not want her to touch me again. As I was leaving I swear I saw her cleaning my flesh out from under her fingernails. So I just headed home to fix it in the privacy of my own bathroom. Honey, I’m home. Get the scissors!

Andrew, I’ll never leave you again.