Friday, June 22, 2007

Worst Haircut Ever

Let me start by saying that the haircut itself is fine. It is neither the best nor the worst I've ever had, and I have no particular qualms with it. The haircut experience, however, was a perfect storm of circumstances that make me hate, hate, HATE going in for this particular procedure.

The worst part of the haircut experience, for me, is the small talk with the stylist. It's even worse when you can barely understand the person. The girl who cut my hair last night may or may not have had a lisp. I'm not entirely sure, because she spoke so softly that I had to struggle to hear her anyway.

Beyond that, forced and awkward conversation with strangers is not something that generally appeals to me. Occasionally it happens when I have a mildly interesting dialogue with the person cutting my hair, but it's very rare. I don't say that to knock them; it's just that my haircuts generally take around ten minutes, and it's hard to hit on an interesting topic in that time, particularly for someone like me to whom small talk does not come easily. More often, the results are more like this disastrous conversation that took place yesterday:

Stylist: "Got any plans for the weekend?"
Me: "Yeah, it's my wife's birthday, so we're having some friends get together. How about you, anything fun going on?"
Stylist: "Not really. My mom's funeral. She had cancer."
Me:  A moment of stunned silence, then "I'm sorry to hear that."

I mean, where do you go from there with a perfect stranger? I have no idea, so needless to say, that was pretty much it for conversation at that point. I'm perfectly content with that, but man, what a way to put the kibosh on it.

As far as the actual haircut, this particular stylist had a very firm hand. She pressed the clippers into my head more forcefully than anyone has done before. The surface of my head is on the lumpy side, so that caused a little bit of discomfort. Also, she scraped the hell out of my skin when she trimmed my sideburns and the hair on the back of my neck. I can still feel the irritation on my neck this morning, actually. Also, when she stood behind me to cut the front of my hair, she pressed my head way back into her boobs. I honestly don't think she was trying to sexually harass me, but it was definitely a little weird.

I suppose I should have specifically requested the stylist who has cut my hair the past few times. It seemed silly at the time to wait for her when another stylist was ready to go, but I suppose I learned my lesson. I'll keep it in mind if I ever get my hair cut there again, which seems at least somewhat unlikely. Maybe (and this is a big maybe) after I move I'll try to find myself a regular barber. Having the same person do it each time might make me hate the process just a little less.

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