Monday, November 14, 2005

THE FINAL CUT

Have you ever had a really bad haircut? Me neither.

Okay, I KNOW you’re lying – and so am I. I mean, just look at me. This is fucking ridiculous. I can’t believe I paid someone money to do this to my head. Stevie Wonder could’ve given me a better cut with a pair of garden shears. Drunk. Speaking of Wonder, I wonder if he ever drinks himself half blind. [gratuitous rim shot]

So I waited and waited and waited to get a haircut. And day after day, Geri would politely remind me by asking, “So when are you going to get a haircut? You could always go this afternoon. How about tomorrow then? Will Friday work?” And I would shrug it off – “I know. I know. It’s getting shaggy. I really need to go.”

On Saturday, I finally went. But for some reason there was a run on the barber shop that day. People must want to look their best for the apocalypse (I hear it is nearing). As I stepped up to the front door I noticed there were 4 people seated in the waiting area…all patiently reading day-old newspapers. My well-kept secret was out – the Russian immigrant I’d discovered down the street from my apartment took a lot of pride in his work, and it showed. For $20 (after tip!), he’d give you a clean, crisp cut every time...without taking, or talking, your ear off.

On any another day I might have pulled up a stool and waited for his reliable services. But I had places to go and people see that day. So after waiting and waiting for weeks to get a haircut, I chose not to wait just one more hour. I got in my car and drove uptown to one of those fast-food haircut joints where they fleece folks like sheep for $10 a pop.

I eagerly took a seat in the chair of a slow-moving, older lady who I was certain moonlighted as a tarot card reader. She had a thick accent I couldn’t place and a pleasant, if unhurried, way about her. I felt comfortable in her care, assuming she’d been cutting hair for boys of her own for decades.

Oh, the horror that followed.

I watched on in helpless agony as she began chopping away at my dark brown dome, her clipping fingers weaving up and down randomly like drunk butterflies, slivers of hair shooting like sparks from my scalp. I wanted to stop the madness, but she was the professional, I thought. I decided to close my eyes, relax, and give her experienced eye the benefit of the doubt.

10 minutes later I opened my eyes to a whole new me: one who looked like a lobotomy addict. I smiled graciously and thanked her for the cut, eager to get home and patch things up with some hair gel.

But this was wishful thinking, it turned out, as she’d left me with disturbingly little to work with. There wasn’t any hair left to direct with the gel – and what WAS left was not in good shape. I envisioned a stoned high school kid “mowing” the lawn with a broken weedwacker, leaving patches of dirt in between tufts of thick, uncut bluegrass. Yeah - it's THAT bad. I then remembered Geri's five year old son enthusiastically offering to give me a haircut just a week ago. In hindsight, I should have taken him up on it. Would've saved a little money, anyway. (But not much - ever since discovering the value of money, he's been driving some pretty hard bargains).

Anyhow...here I sit at work, just hours before a client meeting, wondering if the partners will mind me wearing a golf visor during the presentation. I am a “creative,” after all. It'll be part of my schtick.

Here's the photo you nosy people keep clamoring for. Go ahead - make your jokes. It'll grow out...eventually.

6 comments:

Anonymous said...

terry - Where is the pic?

Donkey Hoatie said...

Hey dorklord,

Where'd you get the haircut? Jodi's been bugging me to get one as well and I want to know which shop to avoid. I've been going to one of those factories near me simply because there's a hot chick with pretty big tracts of land that she rubs up against me. The haircuts are marginal, but I go for the fringe benefits in my pants.

Sheila K said...

Oh yeah. My poor nephew (only 3 at the time thank GOD!) had to get a "Wonderful Snips" hair cut shop when I was visiting Elmhurst once. Imagine my shock and amazement to see him get his hair cut by an honest to god transexual! About 7 feet tall and "blonde", this "lady" was very nice, but had a voice deeper than the well I fell into when I was 4.
And the haircut??? Well, you could have gone skiing down the slope of the poor kids' banges!!! Aunty Sheila had to fix the hair when we got home. Hope that tranny got "fixed" by now and is happy home-maker!

Peter N said...

Really, where is the pic??

Sideshow said...

You should get a . For only $60 you can get a lifetime of fucked up hair cuts.

Sheila K said...

Okay, the FLOWBEE "testimonials" are not to be missed. Terry, my man, you have the gift for writing, but I may have to leave you to find "David". He has educted people with his Flowbee. I'm not sure if that makes him an alien with an accent or if educting is some type of on-line venting system, but DAMN, the man has excellent planning skills and TWO Flowbees....read on:

US Mail:

From David

My name is Dave. I have had my Flowbee since they first came out 9-10 years. People always ask me who cut my hair & when I tell them I use a Flowbee some don't even
know what i am talking about. So I have educted a few of them a handed out a couple harriet carter catalogs for them to buy there own. I jus bought my second one just in case my first one breaks down. Though it has never happened yet.

Thank you for the great product.

I SEE YOU!