However, my hair was just as bad, if not worse. I looked like the 5th member of the Beatles and I knew Sara wouldn't care how it looked as long as it was cut. Plus, I was only delaying the inevitable. I couldn't last a whole year without a haircut. So I marched to a nearby shop and made an appointment.
I used to think that those people had terrible haircuts because they had no style (remember the pink-haired ladies). I now know that it's not the person’s fault, but the hair dresser's.
My first sign for concern came when the hair dresser started backwards. She began by cutting my hair with what I call “alligator scissors,” the ones that help layer your hair. And then she proceeded to the back of my hair where she got a buzzer and shaved off most of the side of my head before I could even sputter out “parate” (stop). Then she would go and trim up with normal scissors. The whole time I was sitting there in utter shock hoping that there was a method to her madness.
And she must have been ADD because she never finished with one instrument before jumping to another one. She would shave the sideburns, then trim the top of my head, then run over the back with a buzzer. Meanwhile, every couple of minutes she would stop and go talk to someone or grab something, and each time I looked in the mirror and thought, this is what a few people on the streets look like. Like they have half-finished haircuts. The hair dresser is just going to walk off and say, "That’s it. You're done," and I'm going to have to leave with one of those Spanish haircut. I decided then and there I was going to make sure she does it how I want and I wouldn’t leave until then.
I think she knew how bad it looked though and thought that if she kept cutting that somehow it would eventually get better. At one point the haircut was actually salvageable. I mean it still looked like it was cut with a blunt machete and it was way too short, but I could work with it, and after a couple weeks it would be fine. Except there were a couple of these long hairs sticking out of the side of my head. So I asked her if she could cut off those little hairs.
She then grabbed the buzzer and shaved the side of my head down another size so that I looked like Frankenstein. When I saw her coming back for more I literally pulled my head away from her to try and escape, but the damage had been done. She had to go back and shave the rest of my head more just to cut those four little hairs and then trim up more on top so that I didn’t look like a German MP. Now I just look like a terrorist, with part mullet, part crew cut. At least now I'll fit in.
