One Time, Just One Time, I'd Like To Live Life With The Feeling Of A Good Haircut
Look at this outright butchery. And it happens EVERY. SINGLE. TIME. Yet again, my lifetime batting average on haircuts is well below the Mendoza line. Supercuts MASSACRED me. There’s nothing can be done to fix it other than hat it out. I’m not a picky hair person by any means. Growing up I’d have the same guy 60+ year old dude every time who knows all I want is #3 clippers on the side and a little off the top. After 10 min of listening to him complain about Philly sports, the family and telling me to get as many “Birds” as possible before marriage, I paid and tipped the man for his fine work and was out of there. Bada-Bing Bada-Boom. It couldn’t have been more structured and American. Ever since he died (or possibly went away for one of his side “businesses”), I’ve been S.O.L. Hell, even if he has been dead for years and I’d still trust him to even me out.
This Supercuts biddy was straight out of “Beauty School” with tattoos that suggested it doubled as a rehab. She shoves me down in the seat with very little communication and starts going to TOWN with the clippers right out of the gate. Within seconds I’m way too short on the sides so I end up looking like some dude who belongs in a ’90’s Mentos commercial. The only way to even it out on the top is to make me look like I’m 5 and my mother just combed my hair before school. I would’ve loved to say something but she one of these people who cuts your hair, for whatever reason, you couldn’t shoot the shit with her. You’re a legitimate psychopath if you cut hair for a living and can’t carry on a general conversation for 10 minutes about the most generic bullshit possible. Have you ever had a haircut where there’s nothing to talk about? Awkward as fuck. She brought up the weather 5 separate times. 5 FUCKING TIMES! Come on, toots. This isn’t Nam, this is barbershop/salon etiquette. There are rules. And you’re damn right when she asked me how it looked I said “Great, Thank you”, tipped her, then went on my merry way. Why? Because I’m one of those people modern day society calls a “Pussy”. But seriously, once the damage was done, what could I say that would fix this chode of a cut? The sole thing I could do is stop by Rita’s, order all the custard they have, then go to cry in the shower. It was the only way to make myself feel human again after Supercuts declared Jihad on my scalp.
That’s exactly what I get for not going back to a real barbershop. From here on out it’s hood or bust.
PS – How young is too young to get some Just For Men? Pops turned Roger Sterling white at 30 so it’s inevitable. And my ugly mug ain’t George Clooney’s so those gray hairs in the front aren’t making any panties wet.
PPS – This was a new one. Thanks?