Bad Haircuts

 

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Monday’s are typically my day to rant about my coworkers, and I have one about Pippy that I’m sure you’re all going to enjoy so stay tuned; but I’ll save that for later in the week. 

However, today I would like to rant about something else that happened this past weekend. 

To begin, I’d like to mention that my barber retired a number of years ago, and I have not been able to find anyone to cut my hair the way he did; and after going to the same barber for 15 years, I learned a thing or two.

First, NO ONE can cut my hair like my barber.

Second, NO ONE knows how to cut hair like my barber.

Third, NO ONE will EVER be able to cut hair like my barber.

Because of this revelation, I decided to buy some clippers and start cutting my own hair.  At first it was a serious challenge, but after a few attempts, some misguided cuts here and there and a few bald spots, I finally got the hang of it.  However, there are times when I feel that cutting my hair is just too much of a hassle; and I get the urge to try a new barber only to be disappointed by the lack of experience the barbering world has to offer these days.

Saturday was one of those days.

For some reason I decided to try this new place that opened near me.  It’s the second location of a regional chain that popped up in my little city over the past couple years, and before I called them to set up an appointment, I read a few reviews online and figured that since the first location was receiving 4 and 5 star reviews, this place had to be just as good.

I was wrong.

Upon arriving at the barber shop, I was greeted by the young lady who would take her artistic frustrations out on my hair.  I think her name was Abby or Alice or something like that, I didn’t really pay attention when she introduced herself.

Anyway, as I sat down in the chair, I showed her a picture of what my hair normally looks like when cut and trimmed to perfection.  As she glanced over the picture, she gave what appeared to be a genuine smile and nod of approval; so I assumed she was going to do a good job… 

Not so much.

…  sigh  …

Here’s some of the dialogue I had with the barber also known as ‘A’ as she cut my hair.

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A:  “How would you like it cut?”

ME:  “Just like this.”  (Showing her the picture.)

A: “Okay, so you want it like that?  That’s really close, I’m not sure I would use a guard if I cut it that close, are you okay with that?”

Me:  “Yes.  Just like the picture.  When I cut it, I don’t use a guard on the sides or the back and it’s a high and tight look, so don’t worry about how short you cut it.  The shorter the better.”

A:  (starts cutting my hair with clippers using a guard then says,) “I’m not sure I want to take that much off, you know…that’s a lot of hair to shave off; and if I cut it that short, I won’t be using a guard.  Is that okay?”

Me:  “It’s perfectly fine if you don’t use a guard.  I don’t use one when I cut it, so no guard is okay by me.  The shorter the better. Here’s the picture again. If you can cut it like what you see in the picture, that would be great!”

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

She left the guard on and continued what she was doing.  Of course it wasn’t what I told her I wanted, but hey!  As long as she was doing it HER way..that was fine.  Whatever made her more comfortable.  

Part way through the mess she was making on top of my head, she stopped and asked,  “So, how do you think it looks?”  To which I replied, “hrmmm…well, you could go shorter on the sides and then taper it into the top.” 

I think that made her angry because as soon as the last word had passed over my lips, the look on her face went from a smile to that of a determined woman who had been scorned.  She then proceeded to take the guard off the clippers, threw it at the mirror and forcefully pushed my head forward while pressing the clippers deep into the back of my scalp. 

Honestly, it didn’t feel like my hair was being cut anymore, it felt more like she was ripping the hair from my head with a set of old rusty clippers that hadn’t been used since the mid 1950’s.  (I should use an Edward Scissorhands joke here, but I can’t think of anything clever to say so I’ll just let you come up with your own.)

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After she trimmed up the sides she looked at me and said, “I had no idea you wanted it this short, why didn’t you tell me that in the first place?” 

To which I apologized for my lack of communication, because I obviously never stated, nor did I repeat the words:  “the shorter the better”,  so it was obviously my fault.

Astonishingly,  she never trimmed up the hair on the top of my head to blend in with the sides and back; so when I returned home, I had to pull out my clippers and fix the mess that I paid $22 for.

Can we say, “waste of time”?

So once again, the barbering world has solidified my belief that no one can cut my hair like my old barber. 

…well…

No one, except me. 

Bad haircuts by bad barbers are pathetic.