This afternoon, after a successful shopping trip, I went to get my hair cut. When I first started going to this place, it was insanely convenient, because it was directly across the hall from my apartment. Two apartments later, I still return, because the Russian lady does a pretty swell job, and is funny and nice, and the place is cheap. But sometimes, I get the Lebanese woman, and she's a little more annoying, a whole lot louder, does a slightly worse job, and charges a little more. Weak!
So today I arrived, and there were two young Indian brothers in the chairs, with their father watching every snip. The pile of hair on the floor at the end of it all was insanity, and quite frankly, both boys still had too much hair on their heads. After the family left, it was just me and the two cutters. But lets rewind.
While waiting for my turn, I got to thinking... I am a grown man. This hair cutting place is in an apartment building. It hasn't seen a renovation since at least 1991. Every time I go there, the Lebanese woman spends copious amounts of time chatting to her family on the phone, to the point that I know the names of her family members. I know their jobs. I know where they live and what they're doing.
Now, I do like the Russian lady, but I'm never guaranteed to get her cutting my hair. And its cheap, but I'm sure a trim can't cost that much money anywhere. And today, the Lebanese woman was wearing a hat. First of all, a hair stylist wearing a hat is a terrible sign. Its even worse than one who shaves their head. Still, its not even just bad that she was wearing a hat. Where did she GET that hat, you ask? Well, I'm not a costume designer, but its pretty safe to say that she stole it after beating up Blossom.
Poor, poor Blossom.
Eventually, the family left, and suddenly there were two empty chairs. The Russian walked away into the other room, and I was nervous. But then the phone rang, and the Lebanese woman had a LENGTHY conversation with her son about getting a new muffler put on the car. By the time she had gotten him off the phone, the husband was calling about receiving a new job offer, but it is out of town. Oh the dilemmas!
Thankfully, the Russian came back and I hopped in her chair. We started off with the quick rundown of what I wanted [including a beard trim, because I have decided I'm worth such luxury] and then talk about school, etc. etc. And then, the two ladies broke into some sort of racist comedy routine. Now, I think they covered every ethnicity, and it was really more observations of what they've encountered from clients, but still! Come on! And then, we heard every detail that I'd missed from the conversation about the husband's potential new job. And then, after asking the Russian how her recent trip to Russia was, I got a list of all the places the she has been. Like, every country, every city, and every truck stop town along the way.
It was a really bizarre hair cutting experience, and I've been left wondering if I should upgrade to a classier establishment. I've also never had my hair cut by a male before, and think that would be a nifty experience. But I do look good when the Russian does it...