Death By Haircut

I've just been for yet another haircut. My hair does grow like a weed and more than occasionally, it needs to be cut in fear of being classed as a forest by the government. Which would make things tricky.. However, the hairdressers, (or barbers if you're cockney!), take it upon themselves to be majorly tricky. Why are they so strange?

This afternoon, I walked in to find there was no queue. Brilliant! But I still had to wait 20 minutes because every single hairdresser was sitting in the corner gorging on McDonalds. Lunch hour is lunch hour I suppose. When they finally decided they would get on with what they're paid to do, they asked me what I wanted. Errr... a haircut? I come here for someone to cut my hair and would like to leave the establishment with less hair than when I entered. I wish to say that every time, but it never comes out like that. It is hairdressing etiquette to say a random number, (the lower, the shorter), and I have to add "very short" to most sentences to make them get the message.

Even with the very clear indication however, that I want my hair short, they still end up not cutting it enough. At least 3 times I have to say "No, shorter". I despair. But a lot more despair is spent up to the moment. Because they are so rough with their instruments! This particular man, early 20's with every hair product on display in his own hair, took to the clippers like it was a gun and begun tearing chunks out of my head, as if he wanted to slaughter my scalp. I always think they will do what I call, "A Mr. Bean". That goes back to an episode of the popular slapstick comedy where Bean chops off the poor gentleman's whole head of hair with these clipper instruments.. This bit isn't so painful, but of course, it gets worse.

This man then grabs a very thick pair of scissors. Then proceeds to drown me in freezing cold water before commencing an even worse hacking of the scalp that had come before with the clippers. Over and over again, scraping the scissors against my ear and chopping at redundant hair that isn't needed any more. The tops of my ears now resemble a half-eaten steak after the amount of times they were struck by these oversize scissors. This, naturally, takes forever. The more hair you have, the more time you are using of the hairdresser's and the worse the pain.

But, the worst pain of all comes at the end. If you are a male, which I was the last time I checked, you do tend to grow a bit of facial hair. Because of this, the hairdresser tends to grab the sharpest knife of all and proceed to scrape the hair of the sides and back of your neck. Well.. it's supposed to be sharp, but this gentleman today might aswell have used a fork. It was disgraceful. Blunt as a spoon, it took him a whole 10 minutes to do a half-completed job before proceeding to the final part of the haircut.

The mirror. Why, oh WHY, do all hairdressers grab a mirror and show you the back of your own head? Why? I don't care what's happening back there. As long as you haven't shaved a penis into my head, then I really don't give a monkeys. No one, in history, has ever said anything than "yeah" to the questions put to you by the hairdresser, at this moment in time, thus wasting everyone's time. It's just ridiculous.

Then they ask you if you want any gel, wax, water or bull sperm in your hair, which is an obvious no judging by the look of your own head, Mr.Hairdresser, just get on with and get me out of this stupid gown you've placed over me.

The price? £9-00. And of course, I give him a tenner and tell him to keep the change. Because social etiquette indicates that we leave a tip. Instead of giving him a money tip however, I really should have given him just a tip:

"Don't ever cut my hair again, understood?"

Ciao x