Saturday, September 28, 2013

Brownilocks Checks In

I went to get a haircut this morning. Perhaps I've told you about my own personal beauty shop: Terrible Cuts. I used their check-in app. Because there's nothing I like better than cutting in line ahead of people who think they're up next. I don't agree with it, but if Terrible Cuts wants to give me the option to be a poor sport, I'll make use of it. Better me than them. Sure as I'd walk in and wait my turn, ten hairy people would arrive and all go ahead of me.

When I did my smart-phone check-in from my Save A Lot parking space, the wait time was 0 minutes. Of course when I got there, five people were inside, two being cut, two milling around, and one ensconced on a plastic black chair like she was never leaving.

A tweenage boy in football pants joined the millers at the pay counter. He had a new buzz cut, and looked kind of like Buzz in the Home Alone movie. My boys' hair never cooperated with a buzz cut. Theirs laid down, all sleek, like a seal. None of that cute spiky porcupiny toilet brush stiffness for their follicles. The buzz cutter swept up and called me next. Take THAT, already-waiting-woman-reading-a-women's-magazine! You can sit there with that dude who just came in, smelling all manly, like old leather shoes worn without socks, garden-plowing sweat, and pipe tobacco.

My Terrible Cutter the buzz cutter was perfectly adequate. She could have pleased Goldilocks herself. She took just enough time, cut just enough off, made just enough conversation, and ripped just enough roots from my scalp in her zealous up-clipping to shear the under layers. One area where she excelled was in whacking me with something that felt like a caveman's club or a medieval mace, once above the left ear, and once under the left eye. Let the record show that she did say, "Oops! Sorry!" both times. She did not have a hacking cough, or lean on me more than a Terrible Cutter should. In fact, she was quite adept at the hair salon ballet. Especially given the fact that neither I nor she were of acceptable BMI. She revolved around me like Saturn around Jupiter. Like those pudgy planets on the Jimmy Dean breakfast solar system commercials.

I welcomed her lack of small talk. I alternated between keeping my eyes closed, and watching the other Terrible Cutter work her magic in the mirror. She was on the same woman as when I entered the establishment. She was probably on her when I checked in from another town. She had been cutting in the beginning. Then she combed, like trying out various looks on her Barbie Styling Head. Then she spritzed that woman's locks with water. Combed some more. Got out the blow dryer. Poofed it up a bit. Spritzed it. Combed it. Snipped a little. It was as if that woman had been there so long that her just-cut hair had grown long enough for more cutting. I was paid for and out of there before she ever left the chair.

Hick and The Pony have yet to comment on my new 'do. That's okay. I'm sure my students will notice on Monday.


  1. I am boycotting my normal "stylist" since she did not listen when I reminded her--like the last time--that I was letting my hair grow a little longer. I reminded her again--halfway through, and too late--and she never even said "Oops." But perhaps that's not in the Russian vocabulary.

    Today I called to make an appointment with a former stylist. (It must be "Teacher-Needs-a-Haircut" day today.) Woe is me. I found out since he has started calling himself a "master" stylist, his price has gone from $15 to $50.

    Too rich for my blood. I'm going to have to settle for a seat at "Terrible Cuts" as well...

  2. You really think your students will notice? I've got a sawbuck that says they're all to much in their own little worlds to notice your nice new do.

  3. Even when you think you're pretty sure of the Lady With The Scissors there's always that bit of cold sweat that happens when you trust your head to her. Maybe she's just got bad news, no sleep or her meds are all wrong. I'm so glad you drew the long straw, dodged the bullet and stepped over the manhole.

    Guys learn early to pretend they don't notice hairdos and clothes. It's like asking if a lady is pregnant. One could be wrong and that can be worse than saying nothing.

  4. I spent years going to Terrible Cuts and every cut came out...terrible. Now I have a nice stylist who knows how to cut my extra thick double crowned hair. I am wondering if she would be will to travel? I highly recommend her and her prices are reasonable!

  5. I'm with Stephen - I'm impressed your students will notice. I once had a totally strange high school kid comment on my haircut when I was subbing. He did notice the haircut - just not that we were different people. The woman I was subbing for is, after all, female, and about my age. And brown-haired. That's enough to make us the same person in a teenager's eyes. Glad your Terrible Cut wasn't terrible. One of my all-time best stylists was from Terrible Cuts!

  6. Sioux,
    Made sure you get that check-in app, Madam, so you can butt in line! FYI, it's always Teacher-Needs-A-Haircut Day. That's because teachers are surely the most poorly-coiffed group in the workplace. Of course I'm speaking of all but you, Madam, and my bloggy teachery acquaintances.

    My old stylist used to own her own shop on Main Street next to the Western Auto. It went out of business and a Subway went in there. Then my stylist, perhaps not a sandwich fan, moved her shop one block and two stores up the street, into the old jewelry store that had gone out of business. Then she sold her hair emporium, but still worked in it. THEN she left to start a catering business, which recently served our back-to-school faculty breakfast.

    I stopped short of asking for a trim in the buffet line.

    I hope you kissed that sawbuck goodbye, because you do not daily inhabit the world of high school freshmen. At this stage of the year, they are quite in tune to my appearance and activities. That's not to say that they listen to the lesson. But they notice everything else about me. Much to my chagrin.

    By the end of the year, they will be too cool for school, all wrapped up in their social lives, some of them already having drivers' licenses, and hopefully not-too-hideous photos on them.

    Somebody will mention the haircut. I would bet my daily 44 oz. Diet Coke on it. That's how serious I am.

    Or guys are just thinking about where their next sandwich is coming from.

    I have a favorite, an older gal who looks like self-proclaimed first supermodel Janice Dickinson. Yeah. Rode hard and put away wet. But she knows my head. Alas, she was not working that day. But she cut The Pony's double crown last weekend, and it turned out great. I was sweating it, because she's the one who gave him the worst haircut of his life last spring.

    Maybe faux Janice was off the meds that day. Or on them.

    Our school is very small. About 80-100 students per grade level. Believe me, they notice. I'm a small-town celebrity. Though not exactly a trend-setter. If nobody mentions my haircut all day, I'll take it as a sign to revamp my efforts to get the handbasket factory up and running.