Not to get all Seinfeld on you, but what is the deal with haircuts? I got a haircut yesterday - is this an anxiety-laden experience for anyone else but me? I HATE getting my haircut. I'm not sure what my major malfunction is about the whole deal, but I simply dread plopping down in that chair.
I think most of it is that I just don't like sitting still for long periods of time with nothing to do except force stilted conversation with the hairdresser. And on a tangent, do I call her a barber or a hairdresser? I mean, I pay her too much for her to be a barber, but saying "I go to the hairdresser" is a bit Little Richard for my taste. I'll feel a lot better about the whole endeavor if we can coin a new term. How about "haircut lady"?
So I was talking to my haircut lady last night and she said that a lot of guys have similar problems with the experience - basically, that guys are giant babies when they get their hair cut. I guess something about sitting in that chair transports us back to childhood follicle-related trauma.
When I was little, my mother took us all to Tony the Barber, the cheapest guy in town. I'm pretty sure he was half-blind - he had giant Coke bottle glasses. If you moved a little in your chair, he would growl instructions in your ear: "Siiiit stiiiiill." Even at that young age, I recognized the quality in the voice of a man who had very likely tasted human blood. I was so scared, I used to sit like a statue, afraid to even breathe. I still hear "Siiiiiit stiiiiiiill" in my nightmares sometimes.
The funniest part is that Tony was the worst barber since Brutus Beefcake. No matter how still you sat, he always ended up nicking the top of your ears with his electric razor. I mean, he'd draw blood every single time. And it hurt like a bitch. When he clipped the top of your ear, you'd yelp and cry. His response? "Siiiiiiit stiiiiiill."
Tony the Barber was a town-wide menace. I used to walk around school and see other kids with the skin shaved off the top of their ears. "Tony the Barber?" I'd ask. They'd just slump their shoulders and walk away, trying to forget their hidden shame. Forget Columbine - our schools had our own terror: Tony the Barber.
So gee - I wonder why I don't like haircuts.
I think most of it is that I just don't like sitting still for long periods of time with nothing to do except force stilted conversation with the hairdresser. And on a tangent, do I call her a barber or a hairdresser? I mean, I pay her too much for her to be a barber, but saying "I go to the hairdresser" is a bit Little Richard for my taste. I'll feel a lot better about the whole endeavor if we can coin a new term. How about "haircut lady"?
So I was talking to my haircut lady last night and she said that a lot of guys have similar problems with the experience - basically, that guys are giant babies when they get their hair cut. I guess something about sitting in that chair transports us back to childhood follicle-related trauma.
When I was little, my mother took us all to Tony the Barber, the cheapest guy in town. I'm pretty sure he was half-blind - he had giant Coke bottle glasses. If you moved a little in your chair, he would growl instructions in your ear: "Siiiit stiiiiill." Even at that young age, I recognized the quality in the voice of a man who had very likely tasted human blood. I was so scared, I used to sit like a statue, afraid to even breathe. I still hear "Siiiiiit stiiiiiiill" in my nightmares sometimes.
The funniest part is that Tony was the worst barber since Brutus Beefcake. No matter how still you sat, he always ended up nicking the top of your ears with his electric razor. I mean, he'd draw blood every single time. And it hurt like a bitch. When he clipped the top of your ear, you'd yelp and cry. His response? "Siiiiiiit stiiiiiill."
Tony the Barber was a town-wide menace. I used to walk around school and see other kids with the skin shaved off the top of their ears. "Tony the Barber?" I'd ask. They'd just slump their shoulders and walk away, trying to forget their hidden shame. Forget Columbine - our schools had our own terror: Tony the Barber.
So gee - I wonder why I don't like haircuts.
10 Comments:
I actually had a *positive* haircut moment recently, and it helped that I specifically sought out the cute alterna-looking gal. She not only recognized that I had a piercing there in the top of my left ear, but also that it should be MOVED OUT OF THE FUCKING WAY when she goes all clipper happy.
This made me enormously happy. I tipped her like twenty bucks.
Yeah, my cute alterna-looking haircut lady took care of me. But even her soft, sensous hands couldn't undo the scars of Tony the Barber.
My fav haircut girl was back in college. She'd constantly rub her breasts on me throughout the haircut. And she cut hair good too!
What wouldn't I give for a nice haircut right now. My last haircut was me hurriedly chopping my hair off with a pair of dull kitchen shears.
Hey, I'm in Huntsville right now with my parents! Maybe I'll have them babysit Jason while I get a haircut! Thanks Brendo!
i went sunday.
i gave the girl a picture, and said, "can you do this?" she replied "yes.
i then asked, "will this cut work on me?" again, she replied "yes".
then she asked me, "do you trust me?" and i said "yup"
and she chopped away. she knew exactly what to do. she was amazing.
Tony is clearly lying, as he has never cut his hair.
he's not lying.
he used to hang around hair cut places and he found a hair cut lady he liked. while she was cutting other people's hair, she would rub her boobs against her. he also like the way she cut other people's hair.
see, it was definitely the total truth.
You see, I used to cut my hair back when I lived out in western Mass. Out there you get boobs with every haircut. But then I moved to Boston where the haircuts are boob-free. Why would I bother cutting my hair anymore? Now you know why I've grown my hair out.
I whole-heartedly support everything Tony has written on this post.
I remember Tony the barber. His shop was right on Hackets Pond and we used to call him the Hackets Pond Hacker. Good times...
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