Thursday, April 12, 2012

Shut up and cut my hair!

I have found that as I get older and the amount of my hair decreases that my rage about having to get a hair cut increases accordingly. The reasons that I loathe getting my hair cut are pretty run of the mill; I don't like paying full price when the top of my head is mostly barren, I hate having my ears bent, I always end up with the back of my shirt wet and full of hair clippings. Pretty standard complaints. Yet I understand that if I want to stay in the good graces of my lovely girlfriend I can't keep looking like the boss from Dilbert. There is one thing that can really push me over the edge and make me consider never stepping foot into a barber shop again, a talkative stylist.

One way to avoid such a dilemma would be to go to a real barbershop instead of a Hair Cuttery. I am a glutton for punishment and insanely lazy so I won't travel a wee bit longer to get to a cool a barbershop. No, I insist on playing Russian Roulette. And their are at least 5 bullets in the gun, I always lose. of course I ended up with a middle aged woman who would not shut up. I'm pretty sure that she was incapable of it, kind of like how Kristen Stewart is unable to close her mouth. If she was saying something of interest I might have engaged her and had a nice little banter. I'm a pretty well rounded guy who can carry on conversations about comics, baseball, mid 90's south side suburban ska and Napoleonic era Russia; you know, the 4 things worth talking about. My stylist on the other hand was only versed in one topic of conversation, bitching about her family.

She went on and on about how she was the only one willing to take care of her mother and that's why she had power of attorney and how her brothers were taking her to court because they wanted the money and how there wasn't really any money and how no one loved her and her ex husband told her that the lawyers were trying to screw her and everyone was trying to steal . . . AD INFINITUM. If I was friends with her there would still only be a 7% chance that I wanted to hear about these problems. As a perfect stranger I absolutely could not give a fuck. It's not that I didn't care about her problems, I aggressively didn't care.

As she rambled on and on I found myself rooting against her in the story. I was really hoping it ended up with her being written out of the will and her mother breaking a cane over her head. Eventually she got so worked up that she completely stopped cutting my hair and started tapping me on the shoulder to make her point. Wonderful. Now this insufferable haircut is going to last even longer. Just when I thought I was at the breaking point and about to turn the clippers into a murder weapon she upped her game. She stopped talking about her family problems (yay!) and started to try and sell me all sorts of goop to put into my hair (SHITSTICKS!).

Seriously, the only way to make things worse was for her incessant rambling transitioning into non stop badgering for me to spend more money. Look, I should only get charged half price to begin with, I have a giant flesh yarmulke that takes up half my head. But no, I get charged full price anyway. On top of that you want me to spend 20 bucks on gel so I can spike up the seven hairs left on my head? If I use this great gel I can be the Pauly D of bald men? SHUT UP AND CUT MY DAMN HAIR!

As the haircut came to a merciful end I couldn't help but notice that she did a pretty solid job, so kudos there. I even acted really pleased when she gave me her card that said when she worked so that I could book a time with her again, hell, it wasn't acting. I was really happy because I now have a leg up on when I can get my hair cut by someone else. Winner: Charlie

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