I was married until 1996. While I was married and even after I was divorced, my wife would give me haircuts. She wasn't a professional but she always did a pretty good job on my hair. After I moved to Hawaii at the end of 1996, I just went to the Navy Exchange for haircuts. I was never particularly happy with the haircuts I got there. They would always ask me how I wanted my haircut and then would proceed to cut it however the heck they wanted to cut it. It never turned out particularly well. I would have uneven sideburns and a few places that were cut shorter or left longer than the surrounding areas.
Eventually, I found a hairdresser in town. I always had pretty good luck after I decided to get my haircut out in town for the next 10 years. One of my favorite things was that they would always wash my hair when they finished. I thought it was kind of silly for a dude to get his hair washed after a haircut until I actually tried it, then I realized I didn't have annoying little hairs falling down my shirt all day. I was hooked.
I had some difficulty finding a barber or hairstylist in Pullman that I like. There are lots of college students filling jobs nearly everywhere and that means a high turnover for the employees. The first place that I went to here, the girl asked if I wanted her to shampoo my hair. I said that I would and she handed me a towel and asked me to walk to the sink. I told her that I wanted it shampooed after she cut my hair and not before.
She had a slightly stunned look on her face and was staring at me like I had a dick growing out of my head.
I asked "Why are you staring at me like I have a dick growing out of my head?"
She said "WHAT???"
I said "You are staring at me. Why are you staring at me? Is there a penis growing out of my head?"
I left shortly after this exchange without the shampoo and haircut. She didn't appear very comfortable around me and probably would not have given me a very good haircut.
I probably should have said something more polite like "Why are you staring at me like I have lobster crawling out of my ears?", but it just kind of slipped out and once I said it, it wouldn't come back.
Stylists and barbers always try to engage me in conversation, but I try to avoid it. I reply enough so that they don't think I am rude, but I really don't like talking to them. The reason that I don't like talking to them dates back to the second barber I had here in Pullman. He spent the entire time complaining.
He had graduated from WSU with a degree in Journalism but was unable to find a job in his chosen profession. His parents wouldn't let him move back home. He whined the entire time about how unfair life was. I made the mistake of replying to him a few times, so I guess that I asked for it. I kind of wanted to tell him to shut up, but I was worried about pissing him off while he was cutting my hair. I didn't want it to look like it had been cut by a blind chimpanzee.
I get a pretty basic haircut. I tell the person cutting my hair to go around the sides and back with a Number 1 and to cut the top finger-length, and then to blend it together. A Number 1 clipper cuts very, very close to the skin so the hair cuts very short. It took me a little while to figure out the finger length thing. When I was describing how long I wanted the hair on the top of my head cut, I held my fingertips close together and said that I wanted it about that long. She asked if I meant finger-length. My first thought was that my finger was a lot longer than I wanted my hair. Turns out, finger length means that they hold your hair between their index and middle finger with their hand flat against your head and then cut it flush to their fingers. I guess it would be more accurately described as finger-width, but I just call it what they do and it seems to get the job done.
I just got a haircut today from yet another barber. He was the "new guy". I didn't know he was the new guy when I came in, but I figured it out pretty quick.
When I sat down in the chair, he asked "Are you getting an eyebrow wax?"
Now, I don't know exactly what an eyebrow wax consists of. Everything that I know about hair and wax was what I learned from watching 40 Year Old Virgin. I was pretty sure that I didn't want any sort of wax.
One of the stylists working at the next chair said "No, the eyebrow wax is for this guy."
He looked confused for a second, then asked if I wanted a haircut. I told him to cut the sides and back with a Number 1, finger-length on top, and then to blend it together. "No Problem", he said. He went to work with the clippers. Large chunks of hair began to fall from the sides and back of my hair, which is expected.
The next thing that happened was unexpected.
He turned the clippers off and said "Man, I don't think I can finish this without screwing it up!"
My head whipped around as did the heads of the stylists working on either side of him.
One of the stylists admonished him. "Don't EVER say that in front of a customer. Just ask one of us for help."
Then she turned to me and said "I'll finish it up if he can't do it."
As it turned out, he was able to do a pretty good job until he got to the part where he was blending the top with the sides. He asked one of the girls if he could use her "blending-comb" to finish up.
She said, "Sure, but it's a piece of crap."
In the end, a different stylist finished up and I guess it turned out okay. But I don't think I will ask Bryan to cut my hair next time I go back.
Eventually, I found a hairdresser in town. I always had pretty good luck after I decided to get my haircut out in town for the next 10 years. One of my favorite things was that they would always wash my hair when they finished. I thought it was kind of silly for a dude to get his hair washed after a haircut until I actually tried it, then I realized I didn't have annoying little hairs falling down my shirt all day. I was hooked.
I had some difficulty finding a barber or hairstylist in Pullman that I like. There are lots of college students filling jobs nearly everywhere and that means a high turnover for the employees. The first place that I went to here, the girl asked if I wanted her to shampoo my hair. I said that I would and she handed me a towel and asked me to walk to the sink. I told her that I wanted it shampooed after she cut my hair and not before.
She had a slightly stunned look on her face and was staring at me like I had a dick growing out of my head.
I asked "Why are you staring at me like I have a dick growing out of my head?"
She said "WHAT???"
I said "You are staring at me. Why are you staring at me? Is there a penis growing out of my head?"
I left shortly after this exchange without the shampoo and haircut. She didn't appear very comfortable around me and probably would not have given me a very good haircut.
I probably should have said something more polite like "Why are you staring at me like I have lobster crawling out of my ears?", but it just kind of slipped out and once I said it, it wouldn't come back.
Stylists and barbers always try to engage me in conversation, but I try to avoid it. I reply enough so that they don't think I am rude, but I really don't like talking to them. The reason that I don't like talking to them dates back to the second barber I had here in Pullman. He spent the entire time complaining.
He had graduated from WSU with a degree in Journalism but was unable to find a job in his chosen profession. His parents wouldn't let him move back home. He whined the entire time about how unfair life was. I made the mistake of replying to him a few times, so I guess that I asked for it. I kind of wanted to tell him to shut up, but I was worried about pissing him off while he was cutting my hair. I didn't want it to look like it had been cut by a blind chimpanzee.
I get a pretty basic haircut. I tell the person cutting my hair to go around the sides and back with a Number 1 and to cut the top finger-length, and then to blend it together. A Number 1 clipper cuts very, very close to the skin so the hair cuts very short. It took me a little while to figure out the finger length thing. When I was describing how long I wanted the hair on the top of my head cut, I held my fingertips close together and said that I wanted it about that long. She asked if I meant finger-length. My first thought was that my finger was a lot longer than I wanted my hair. Turns out, finger length means that they hold your hair between their index and middle finger with their hand flat against your head and then cut it flush to their fingers. I guess it would be more accurately described as finger-width, but I just call it what they do and it seems to get the job done.
I just got a haircut today from yet another barber. He was the "new guy". I didn't know he was the new guy when I came in, but I figured it out pretty quick.
When I sat down in the chair, he asked "Are you getting an eyebrow wax?"
Now, I don't know exactly what an eyebrow wax consists of. Everything that I know about hair and wax was what I learned from watching 40 Year Old Virgin. I was pretty sure that I didn't want any sort of wax.
One of the stylists working at the next chair said "No, the eyebrow wax is for this guy."
He looked confused for a second, then asked if I wanted a haircut. I told him to cut the sides and back with a Number 1, finger-length on top, and then to blend it together. "No Problem", he said. He went to work with the clippers. Large chunks of hair began to fall from the sides and back of my hair, which is expected.
The next thing that happened was unexpected.
He turned the clippers off and said "Man, I don't think I can finish this without screwing it up!"
My head whipped around as did the heads of the stylists working on either side of him.
One of the stylists admonished him. "Don't EVER say that in front of a customer. Just ask one of us for help."
Then she turned to me and said "I'll finish it up if he can't do it."
As it turned out, he was able to do a pretty good job until he got to the part where he was blending the top with the sides. He asked one of the girls if he could use her "blending-comb" to finish up.
She said, "Sure, but it's a piece of crap."
In the end, a different stylist finished up and I guess it turned out okay. But I don't think I will ask Bryan to cut my hair next time I go back.
3 comments:
One of the great things about getting old is you don't care what you look like.
I cut my own hair with a pair of dog clippers I got at Big Lots for $9.95.
I guess I will have to wait until I get married. If I am married, my wife can cut my hair.
If she can't, then I can fall back on the dog clippers!
I know a good barber is hard to find. I am a 46 year old female barber in Groton, Conn. I learned at the NEX Subbase barber shop back in the 90's. I honed my skills and eventually went out on my own. I was a navy brat myself and lived in Hawaii in 78-81 and I loved it there! I consider myself to be a better than most barber- so if your navy travels ever take ya to Conn. - let me know. Look for my facebook. meauburn2008@yahoo.com
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