The Haircut

Or getting your ears lowered, for anyone who watched Doug back in the day.

Getting my hair cut is something I’m still uncomfortable doing. I get my hair cut every 2-3 months. Somewhere in between there.

The hair beside my ear (’locks’ I think they call that bit) is an indicator. When that bit grows long enough that I have to decide whether I tuck it behind my ears or not - then I have to start thinking when I’m gonna get the hair cut.

And there’s that two week or so period after the cut where it’s too short looking, then it’s reaches its optimum point, before completing the cycle and venturing into “too long” territory.

As every man knows, getting a hair cut takes all day.

If I’m planning out my week, “haircut” will be assigned to a certain day, and NOTHING ELSE can be planned.

So, I wake up at around 12pm. Should I do something? Nah, can’t. Getting my hair cut later.

Stroll down around 2pm. In I go. There’s one guy sitting on the couch there, and he’s old. Why is he getting his hair cut? He doesn’t need a hair cut. Is he deluded? Is this his last shred of youth?

Oh wait, maybe the kid getting his hair cut is his son.

Fuck it, none of my business. It’ll be me in thirty or forty years anyway.

A woman walks in with a young boy, and a pram.

Oh Christ.

A pram in the barbers.

You know what that means.

A baby in the barbers.

There are few things I fear more than a baby in the barbers.

See, barbers are full of men. So when a woman comes down with her son to get his hair cut, and brings her baby, it’s awkward. No men know how to act with a baby.

What the fuck am I supposed to do when the baby smiles at me and makes some gurgling noise?

I probably should smile back. But when I consider doing that, I just imagine myself grinning at the baby with a dirty pedo-smile. Here is a rendering of what I think I’ll look like (ironically I forgot to do the hair).

The horrified mother will look at me in disgust. Then she’ll look at my crotch. My jeans will have done that self-made bulge thing that all trousers do, but she’ll misinterpret that and run out of the barbers.

So I usually ignore the baby. If there’s a newspaper there, you’re laughing.

There’s a relatively new barbers in my town, and it’s run by eastern European women. I first went there out of curiosity. I kept going there for the bewbs.

When they call “Next please!”, I still have a little jolt of panic, as if I’m actually doing something important

Oh God, what do I ask for again?

What if I stutter and panic and ask for the wrong thing?

Do I have an erection?

So I stand up and walk towards the chair. I then ask for what I always do (at least I think so - every time I’m there I always wonder if I’ve actually forgotten what I usually get).

“Four back and sides, fives on t-”

“Yes, seet dowhn pleesh”

Fucking hell. I don’t know why, but every time I go up and tell them what I want, they interrupt, and get me to sit down first, then say what I want. It’s bullshit. Just let me fucking finish for Christ’s sake.

I hate telling them what haircut I want when I’m sitting down, facing the mirror, with them behind me. It’s not normal. So I tend to half turn around which makes me look a total spastic. I can’t win.

Last time I went down, this did indeed happen.

So while sitting, I ‘made my order’.

“Four back and sides, five on top please”.

Now, I said already how I worry about asking for the wrong haircut. So there’s a few things I don’t want to hear after I ask.

She responded with a delightful :

“FIIIVE? ARE YOU SUUURE?”

“Eh, yeah, I think that’s what I usually get.”

She ruffles my hair.

“Bit short no? Six, maybe?”

“Eh, fair enough, that’s fine.”

So away she goes. I hate the bullshit questions they ask then. I don’t mean conversation - that’s fine - but the bullshit hair questions I don’t give a fuck about, and never know how to answer.

“Cut fringe yes?”

“Ah yeah, give it a trim”.

Is that a normal response? Am I supposed to give more specific instructions? There’s no guidelines for this shit. Why is there no guidelines?!

“And the locks?”

“Ah yeah, just make ‘em eh, normal”

She laughed.

Does anyone actually have specific instructions for these little things? I should bloody well hope not.

The second last time I was down there getting a haircut, there was a rather large woman cutting my hair. She was gruff and wearing a low top. She was reefing me around the place. Fine by me, if it hurries the whole process then go for it love. Ya feisty little barber ya.

So at one point she forces my head downwards, and snips away. I do everything I can to ensure I don’t move my head, lest she attack me with the razor. She then turns my head towards her.

My face literally couldn’t have been closer to her breasts.

Seriously.

Breastfed at the barbers.

At this point my mind raced through all the inappropriate things I could have done at that moment.

I quite fancied looking up at her, right into her eyes, doing this face ;

and then returning to the depths of cleavage she’d placed me in.

But I just stifled my giggles and soldiered on.

And what’s to stop anyone running out of the barbers after you get your hair cut? They can’t exactly catch you and stick the hair back on.

And don’t get me started on the itchiness afterwards. Or the stray hairs on your hand when you scratch your head.

Anyway, I wish to open a new barbers. Man barbers. It’ll be for people like me who don’t really care about their hair, they just want to get that shit cut and looking normal. The barbers are women wearing only lingerie, and they don’t speak a word of English. But that doesn’t matter because they don’t need to understand instructions. It’s the same haircut for everyone. You also drink beer while your hair is cut. No questions, no bullshit. Football and car magazines are there for you while you wait.

Is that sexist?

I fucking hope so.

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