About four years ago I decided to go trim my hair. My regular barber had recently upped his price to almost double of what he’d taken before, so I had decided to try out a new place. I only wanted some trimming, so cheap was more important that top-notch quality…
Famous last words, eh?
Anyway, I located another barbershop that I had passed on my way downtown several times and decided to try it out. I was greeted by a friendly girl, sat down in one of those chairs that look suspiciously like the one’s they have at the dentist, and was clothed in a cloak of some sort.
You know the sort: The one’s that’s supposed to keep hair away from your clothes by funneling most of it down your neck just so you’ll itch that much more.
The girl was devastated and didn’t quite know what to say or what to do. I didn’t have to pay anything for my close shave, naturally, and asked her to rake it all off. Better a skinhead than having a bare spot on the side of my head. I was pretty pissed off, but still I ended up keeping my head bare that summer.
Shortly after I invested in one of those hair-buzzer-machine-thingies and have been doing my hair-work myself ever since.