I'll be the one in the hat.

I should mention up front that I had a coupon.  I can’t prove that it was the coupon that influenced the end result but I’d hazard a guess that it did.  I expect a seasoned traveler would have known to not present the coupon until the very end.  That was most likely my biggest faux pas, although not my only one.

Also you should know I struggled a little over the title of this piece.  I had thought about calling it Survivor’s Remorse, but that may have lead to a more confusing path.  As it is, you may already be wondering what it was that I actually survived. 

And maybe survived is too strong a word, as I haven’t really survived it yet.  It is a haircut that I am still feeling the ill effects from.  In all my days it stands as the worst haircut I’ve ever received, but please – let me start at the beginning.

Like I say, I had this coupon; that, in conjunction with me needing a haircut set me on this unfortunate, spiraling path of doom.

It was lunch time, so it took a little doing before I found a parking spot.  One man was walking in the barber shop before me and I was just in time to hear someone say, “There are two people ahead of you.”  This was going to take a big chunk out of my afternoon so I turned around in the doorway and left.  Instead of a haircut I walked into the sandwich shop next door.  There was a long line in there as well but at least it was moving. 

As I stood reading the sandwich types, sizes and prices up on the big board I could hear someone right next to me talking.  I turned and saw one of the barbers from the barber shop.  “Excuse me sir, but did you want a haircut?  All those people in front of you are waiting for the other barbers.  I’m ready to take you now if you still want one.”

That - right there should have been my first warning sign.  None of those other customers were willing to get a haircut from this barber.  They’d rather sit and wait than risk it.  My second warning sign should have been the fact that this barber ran out of the shop and tracked me down.  Who does that?

OK, so I’m sitting in the barber chair, we’re making small talk when he takes electric clippers out and attempts to change the cutting guides.  From what I can see, the cutting guides are made up of multiple plastic pieces that snap together.  If, however, they are not in the proper sequence, they won’t fit. 

The barber struggles with these little puzzle pieces until completely frustrated.  A second barber comes over and also tries to put the thing together.  This should have been my third warning sign.  Right then I should have pulled off the little barber apron, leapt from the chair and ran screaming into the parking lot.

Apparently I am too polite.  I sat and waited.  Eventually the barber was holding up the little hand mirror so I could inspect the damage, but at this point I didn’t care.  I just wanted out.

“It looks fine, I said.  Thank you.” and as soon as the apron lifted from my lap I sprung from the chair and headed for the register so I could pay and leave.

I hope you weren’t expecting me to put a picture here.  That’s never going to happen.  And, should you see me out around town, I’ll be the one wearing the hat. 

That’s it.  Let them call me a Hippie.  I’m done with haircuts.

Z.C.