A Little Off The Top

Man... I finally got a haircut today, something I've meant to do for the last six weeks or so. When I sat down in the chair, I explained what I like, with the guideline that I was about two months overdue for a haircut. I think something got lost in translation, because she cut it longer than I like. I try to get some mileage out of a cut, and when I said I was two months over due, that meant that Two months had gone by since I first said to myself "I need to get this situation under control."

The other day I took a nap and woke up with some wild-ass fro. I took this pic, because it seemed monumental and document worthy:



Maybe it seemed worse than it was. I dunno. But I was reminded of this little adventure from a few years ago:

I was again in dire need of a haircut. It was serious. I made a plan to go to the local chain cuttery after work. Let's call it Kwik Kuts, if only because that sounds amusing to me. Also, it was cheap as hell. This part is very important to me: a cheap, fast haircut that allows me to pop in, get a cut, and proceed with my plans of napping on the couch with my cat.

Kwik Kuts! The place to get a Kut. And Kwik!

I found a Kwik Kuts that wasn't far from my work-to-home commute. I diverted and found my way to a parking spot not far from the front door of Kwik Kuts. I looked at the signage, which said "Tow Zone: No Parking 5pm - 8am". A quick check of the watch revealed that present time was 4:25 pm. If I was lucky, I could easily beat the curfew. Kwik Kuts was fast, and if I didn't have to wait too long, I could easily be in and out with time to spare. I fed a few extra quarters into the meter, hoping to get a few brownie points with he parking gods. The sun was blazing that day, my friend. The mercury was surprisingly spry for an early spring day in New England. The temp topped out at an unusual 94 degrees when I opened the door.

I walked into Kwik Kuts, signed in and was quickly hustled into a chair. My plan was working flawlessly. The woman who had seated me was talking to a young woman. She pointed in my direction, and the young lady headed my way. She was plainly dressed, average height, of Asian descent, and had a VERY PRONOUNCED lazy eye.

I try to be as PC as possible. I refer to Asian people as Asians, unlike my father and some of my coworkers, who refer to "Orientals".

I'd like to think that this woman's heritage had little to do with my thought process.

But there is something that is SERIOUSLY disconcerting about being set upon by someone wielding scissors with profoundly crossed eyes. All I could look at was the pointy edge of those tiny scissors, knowing that soon they would be slicing and dicing very close to my eyes and ears.

I froze. Part of my brain was screaming at me "OMG! GTFO! No WAY! Scary Scary Scary!"

And yet another part was, somewhat more calmly, yet certainly alarmed saying "There is nothing wrong with her. She is different than you in some very minor ways, Don't be an ass. Surely she couldn't rise to such a high position without the proper credentials."


But the errant eyeball was not this young woman's only affliction. She was also slow. Well, maybe that's wrong. She was diligent. Attentive to details. Ah hell. Who am I kidding? She was slow. I've never experienced a haircut that took this long. Except the time in college when I let my girlfriend cut my hair. I had long, heavy-metal hair, and she just couldn't get it even, and by the time I was done I was the not-so proud owner of a bowl cut.



Time passes. A lot of time passes. I glanced at the clock in the mirror. It was approaching 5pm. More time passes. A lot more time passes. In my mind I began to see the scenario playing out outside: A tow truck backing up to take my car. The car being towed to god-knows-where in the wastelands of Allston. That half-eaten tuna salad sandwich I hadn't finished at lunch baking away in the heat inside. The bill for getting my car back. That tuna smell baked into every fiber forever. Tuna. Tow lot.

More time passes. Is she cutting each individual hair? Good lord! By this time, however, I'm so committed to this thing that I just have to wait it out. I should have gone with my initial instinct and not let that cross-eyed bitch near me. To hell with political correctness. She should wear sunglasses, then I never would have noticed.

Mercifully, she finally got done. I paid my tab and ran out with a completely unoffensive haircut to find my car plastered with orange parking tickets. Not only had I over-stayed my welcome, apparently I had been lax in getting my inspection sticker updated. All told, this fast, cheap haircut ended up costing me an hour and a half and ninety-five dollars.

Thanks Kwik Kuts!