I have desperately needed a haircut for. . .probably more than a year. It was frizzy and unruly and ridiculous. Carrie had told me about this place near where Wal-Mart used to be. Since we just got a new Super Wal-Mart, the shopping center where the old Wal-Mart used to be is still there, but with considerably less traffic.
I went to this place and, when I walked in, it kind of smelled like someone had been smoking in there. Ok, not a big deal. I gave the lady my name (I was the only person there) and sat down in one of the chairs.
About 30 seconds later, this guy, this true mountain man complete with denim and flannel vest, baseball cap and awesome pornstache, calls my name and brings me back to the chair. When I had first walked in, I thought he and this other guy in there were maintenance men. Then I thought he was just going to, I don't know, bring me back to the chair before the person who was actually going to cut my hair came over.
False.
This guy, who I think is somehow related to Larry the Cable Guy because the resemblance was UNCANNY, was the one who was going to cut my hair. Truly, the only difference between Larry the Cable Guy and my hairdresser was the pornstache and lack of a goatee on the hairdresser. The pornstache, though, was truly a work of art.
Now, at this point, I'm a little apprehensive. This guy, who looked like he was getting ready to go out and. . .I don't know, chop logs or shoot bears or skin deer for fun, was going to cut my hair. Honestly? I kept expecting that it was a joke. I was waiting for one of the women to come over, laugh, and say that her name was Shirley, and she'd be my hairdresser.
It was then that I made a decision. I could have asked for someone else, but then I thought, you know, that would be kind of bitchy. It's just hair. Since I was only asking for a couple inches trimmed off, there were only so many ways the haircut could go wrong. Besides, it would grow back if anything tragic happened to it. And besides, the experience would give me more material for my eventual novel and, at the very least, something to blog about.
Nope. This guy put the plastic cape thing around my neck and pulled my hair back. He was. . .surprisingly gentle with my hair. Now that I think about it, I did find that interesting. Looking at him, you'd have expected him to grab a handful of hair and yank it back. But actually, he was very careful. He told me he wished he had my hair (meaning, thick, and a lot of it) because he was losing his. Then he explained that he'd be wetting my hair down and combing it out so it could be ready to cut. Then he asked me if I wanted it all one length or if I wanted it layered. Then he asked me about my bangs and I told him I was growing them out after a disastrous haircut two years ago.
The whole thing, really and truly, was so incredibly bizarre and surreal that I honestly thought it was some kind of elaborate practical joke.
But I showed him how much I wanted cut off (about two inches, and trust me, I have so much hair, it's not even noticeable) and he started trimming. We talked about politics, what I do for a living, how I like living here and how nice the weather was yesterday. He was. . .kind of awesome.
I said something about how annoying it was that my hair gets so frizzy, and he told me that, since I color it, that's a common problem, but a good way to help combat that is with a good leave-in conditioner. Then we talked about conditioner for a while.
Now, I have had my hair cut by men before. I had this hairdresser, who I believe was named Vince, back in Raleigh that worked at the Great Clips near my house, and I would always request him, because he always did a wonderful job. He was also the stereotypical kind of guy that you'd expect to do hair. I'm not being gayist here, but it's true - typically, men who do hair are gay. But the guy last night? If he was gay, there was nothing stereotypical about him at all, except for the hairdressing thing. He really looked like the kind of guy that wore flannel year-round and had raw rabbit meat from a rabbit he'd skinned that morning for breakfast, along with. . .I don't know. . .deer urine or something.
But I left that place with exactly what I'd asked for - 2 inches of my hair cut off - which is so rare. I don't remember the last time I went to get my hair cut and actually got what I asked for. I'm not sure I'd go back there, but it was kind of an amazing experience.
Tomorrow is the last official home game for both high school football teams, and I'm going to the one that I'd most like to see win. Between the two teams, the one I'm going to go see even though it's in the next town over is the non-snobby team. The other one, everyone in that school, teachers and students alike, seem to have this weird sense of entitlement.
Carrie's leaving on the 21st and I realized today that I'm. . .not going to really have anyone to talk to at work anymore, t have lunch with. I mean, I have people I'm friendly with, and people I'd. . .consider friends, but you know how things are sometimes? When they're complicated? It's like that.
Plus, and this is one of the things that drives me the most up the wall, but that office? Is so freaking juvenile. There's one person younger than me in that place (she's 22. With two kids. She's engaged.), then me, then Carrie, and then a couple people downstairs are in their 20s, but upper 20s. One of them is married and the other is getting married. I'm the only person there in my 20s not in a relationship, so I can't really relate to most of the other people. Upstairs, the person closest to my age is 6 years older than me.
I guess I got off the "juvenile" part of it, but it's like I told Aron (one of the guys downstairs) yesterday - in that place, it's like I never left high school. The cliques are there, the cattiness is there, the immaturity is there. . .I can't stand it. I'm sorry, but being mean to me to be "funny," isn't. It's stupid. And it hurts my feelings.
It's at times like this that I really wish I could talk to you like I used to. I miss that and I could really use it right now.
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