I figured I’d get a haircut on the weekend, so I’d be trim and proper by the time I move to Seattle in a few weeks. I went into the shop and asked the woman (who was Russian and barely spoke English) for a Caesar cut. She readied her razor and asked if it was okay. When I get a haircut it’s very normal for them to start by buzzing the sides, so I saw nothing peculiar in it. I asked what number she was using, and she responded “three”, which was fine, so I gave her the go-ahead. She started buzzing the side, and then the next thing I knew she took a huge strip out of the top of my head.
“What the hell are you doing?!” I shouted.
“I give haircut,” she responded, baffled.
“I asked for a Caesar haircut. [i]Caesar![/i] You’re shaving my head!”
“Is no shave,” she patiently explained while removing and attaching the #3 guard from the razor as if to suggest that her actions were justified by virtue of her not leaving me bald down to my scalp. “Is Caesar.”
“This is [i]not[/i] a Caesar. You are [i]shaving my head[/i]. You’ve [i]ruined my hair[/i].”
“Will look good. Trust me.”
I fumed while she finished mutilating my ‘do, paid, and got the hell out of there. In hindsight I wish I had refused to pay, but at the time I wanted nothing more than to put as much distance between myself and her in as little time as possible.
I used to shave my head in the first couple years of university, and while it felt okay then, I’ve spent the past five years or so growing comfortable with the idea of having hair and did not need this kind of setback.
Anyway, I’m not normally one to be prevailed upon by “funny Internet pictures”, but I can’t help but feel like I’m particularly well-described by this one:
[img]/images/owned.jpg[/img]
Dan.