The pain of haircuts

As I write this I am sat in a hairdressers which is completely rammed full of customers. It seems no matter how early I arrive it’s busy. There is something unsettling about having my hair cut. Sometimes you find that hairdresser that I don’t mind talking with, and they can strike up mildly interesting conversation. More often than not I have either met the silent type that just appear dead inside. They have an expression that tells me their punishment has been being reincarnated as a hairdresser to work in this shitty Barbers. Or I get the arrogant loud mouth who tells you their whole fucking story and stop the whole procedure to give you specific details.

When you go to a Barbers run by women they try to style mens hair to what they think men want. You look up at the walls which are littered with examples of styles that a straight man wouldn’t dream of. Magazines are on the table that are insultingly stereotypical. Fishing magazine, classic cars, GQ! Yeah? cause that’s all men summed up isn’t it! We all love fishing. Even if we did like GQ I don’t know how much I would gleam from a 2007 edition with Shea La boeuf on the front cover!

I have experienced an endless search for the perfect hairdressers. I once made the mistake of going to a hairdressers which doubled as an academy. Most of the students looked so bored. My hair was a pain to them. They were just counting down the hours before they got to go out drinking and dance the night away to Calvin bloody Harris or whoever is popular at the moment I don’t care. When the student saw me she insisted on washing my hair and it felt like she burnt my scalp with hot water as she chatted away about gossip to her colleagues. “Mark hasnt called me back yet” she said. Yes, its because youre a fat stupid bitch who cant even manage to wash someones hair properly. I never understood their weird basin sinks that bend your spine out of proportion. I should have been stationed by a stretcher and an Iron Maiden! They give you a towel but there is always water that pisses down my neck and soaks the shit out of my shirt. When I was eventually allowed to have my hair cut which is what I had been waiting for the girl seemed to have less of an idea than I did and was constantly catching my neck with her sharp scissors. Later investigation revealed I had bled from the encounter. I noticed something strange. Normally when your fringe is being cut the barber would use their hand to shield your forehead and eyes from being smothered in hair. This girl instead just scissored away in a scattered fashion. The hair began to coate my eyes and I felt the urge to release my arm from the confines of the straight jacket they put me in and wipe the hair off. I looked at the girl and said politely. “I’m sorry but you were getting hair in my eyes” to which the girl replied “Yer, that happens when you get a hair cut!” I never went there again!

I went to a Turkish Barbers and it was like Scarface. They all told me when I get my hair cut my girlfriend will screw me really well and she’ll love it. He asked me if I would be watching the game tonight and I replied “I would rather take a shit in a hat and wear it for the rest of my life” The sarcasm was lost on him and he looked confused. The haircut at least was completed much quicker following my comment. I did like being shaved with a razor in the Barbers though, felt like I had travelled back in time.

I hate having to stare at my stupid dumb face whilst I have my hair cut. The moment you sit down you are expected to give a list of requirements. Some customers start giving measurements, grades and language that is lost in me. I normally just say “Little bit shorter and need a tidy up” this gets mixed results. I’m always afraid when I say shorter that they’re going to buzz the lot off and I’ll leave looking like Grant Mitchell. Not Ross Kemp the actor that plays Grant Mitchell. The character, when he first appeared in East enders before he became buff.

Right now I am sat next to unwatched children in the Barbers and they’re fucking around restless. They keep hitting me and it’s so annoying. I looked the child in the eye and said “I wish you’d been aborted you little shit”.

Obviously I didn’t really!

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