Haircut

Getting a haircut shouldn't be such an ordeal. For most people it isn't. I guess I'm not most people.

First of all, I don't like getting my hair cut. I don't like to take time out of my day to do it. The other thing is that I don't like telling the barber how to cut my hair. I don't know how I want it. I guess I want it the same. Can I tell them that? "Same, but shorter." That is normally my answer.

When we moved to South Carolina, I found a barber and I have never seen anyone else since then. For three years, Mark has cut my hair. Even when he moved his shop to another town fifteen minutes away, I continued to see him.

About a month ago I drove out there to get my haircut. I got there at 5:45 and he was closed. The handwritten sign on the door said he was open until six. I guess it was slow and he went home. I was agitated for losing thirty minutes of my evening. A few days later, I had another chance to get my hair cut while off from work. I got out there a bit after lunch time. A sign on the door apologized for being closed due to illness.

Doubly agitated, I drove home. Not his fault he was sick, but what a waste of my time.
The next day I got my hair cut. It took three trips out there for one hair cut.

That was a month ago. Last week I went for a haircut after work. I work thirty minutes South of my home and the barber is fifteen minutes North. Left work, drove past my home and to the barber shop. You already know where this is going, don't you?

It was roughly 5:40pm. Closed. The sign still reads that he will be open until six.
I sat in the parking lot and called Cari. She suggested I go to one of the other barber shops downtown. "But I will have to explain to him how I want my haircut.", I told her. I do not like to break my routines.

So frustrated, I decided I would go visit the barber shop downtown. The one with the red and white barber pole out front. I walked in and looked around. This was an old building with creaking wood floors. The room had a lot of character. There were three barber chairs. One chair was occupied with a customer the barber was working on. There was one young man sitting in a chair along the wall. The rest of the chairs were empty.

The barber said hello to me as I took a seat to wait. An old television sat unused in the corner. There were old, sheet metal posters for hair products hanging on the wall. A heater sat on the old wooden floor. There was a hat rack in the center of the floor holding about ten hats. The guy waiting mentioned to the barber that he was wanting a particular hat off the rack. The barber told him he could have it. I listened to the barber talk with the customer about their families. They knew each other.

The barber was a woman. Besides Cari, I can't remember the last time a woman cut my hair. It's not really a problem. It's just an image I have in my head. You go to a barber shop where an old man cuts your hair. Not a middle aged woman. Being in this old railroad town, in an old shop, only exaggerated that image in my head. This woman was out of place.

The customer that sat a couple chairs from me was next. I listened to them chat as he got his cut. Like the previous customer, they also knew each other.

My turn.

"How do you want it?", she asked nicely.
Dang! I knew this was coming. I gave her the standard answer. "Same but shorter."
"Scissor cut or shaved on the side?", she asked.
This woman just needs to cut my hair I thought. Where is Mark? With Mark, I sit down and he cuts. We talk about what's going on around town. He knows what to do. I thought about telling the woman to call him. Instead I answered, "shaved on the sides."
She continued with her inquiry. "How short?", "What size guard to use on the shaver?", and when I told her I didn't know what size guard, she offered several options. "2? 4?"

I was going to start crying. Just cut my hair!

I told her again, "Same but shorter. Not so short it sticks up." She put together her shaver and took a couple of swipes against the side of my head. Then she stopped and held up a mirror. "A little shorter.", I told her. She made her adjustment then did the same. "I think that's good.", I told her. She agreed and said that would be the best length to blend it with the top.

When she told me that, I thought that if she knew that much, why did she make such a fuss at the beginning?

I finished getting my haircut, paid her and gave her a few dollar tip. It really did look good. She invited me back. I drove home thinking I would never return to Mark's shop. He wasted a lot of my time the past few trips. Now that this woman knows how to cut my hair, maybe I'll always visit her. Even if it is a woman.

We'll find out in a month.