It never was when I was younger.
My dad would take me to the military base, I’d plop down in the chair and a disgruntled drill sergeant would cut my hair.
Five minutes, tops.
But, since leaving home, the search for a good barber or stylist (as men with sensitive hair call them) has been a twisted, frustrating road. And most of the time it ends with a “Dear John, letter” and shed tears amid the shorn locks.
I thought I really found a home with the last place I went.
It’s one of these spots that’s supposed to cater to guys – large pictures of athletes, televisions tuned to ESPN, reasonably attractive women running their hands through your hair … essentially everything our Founding Fathers dreamed of when they devised the Constitution.
But the dream was quickly shattered.
See, I’m not big on the small talk. I mean, how much can you actually talk about the weather? I’m also not a big fan of gabbing to someone while they’re holding a pair of scissors to my neck.
Maybe you can identify with this. When someone is mugging you in a dark alley, you prefer to handle the transaction quickly and not chat about the kids.
The time in a barber’s chair is also a good chance to pray I don’t get a ‘80s style Flock of Seagulls do.
But I shouldn’t have had to worry about this. The guy-friendly hair salon made it very clear I could come in and watch sports. That was the appeal.
I come in, sit down and this woman is gabbing in my ear. Again, at a normal salon this is not a problem, because the gabbing is included in the price.
Still, my one-word answers were off-putting for the stylist.
She said, “You’re quiet, you must be tired,”
Now, I’m obligated to talk over being rude.
“I just really wanted to watch sports, lady. You said I could.”
I wasn’t mad at the stylist. I was more disillusioned. I thought I was coming here to hang out with some chick who likes sports and wanted to cut my hair.
But the sports were a front for talking like when the wife buys you a new pool table but then adds on, “it’ll be a chance to spend more time together.”
Now, I’m not able to watch sports but I have to talk about my feelings, too.
Give me a trashcan to empty and a garage to clean, and I might as well be at home.
The last straw came with my final haircut, which really wasn’t a haircut at all.
Sometime, between sitting me down in the chair and taking my $20, the woman completely forgot to my cut my hair.
I ‘d like to think she was too wrapped up in the Brett Favre press conference. But I know it’s a lie.
We did have a nice talk though.
