I hate getting my hair cut.
It's the people. You might not know this, but getting a haircut is incredibly social. Shoot me. I don't want to be social.
I go to a barber in Camp Hill, that employs 8 to 10 barbers. A wonderful selection, right? Not really. Most of them are talkers. There must be a prerequisite to graduating from the barber academy, a course entitled "The Essentials of Smalltalk : making conversation out of nothing."
I hate smalltalk.
Oh please waste my time and interrupt my inner-quiet by talking to me about the safest topic you can think of. No really, I love forging temporary friendships with strangers as we completely agree about something that is really boring. I cherish the wake of ten-minute-friendships that litter my past.
I had to try several before I found one that didn't talk to me. Switching to a new barber within the same shop is very awkward. Barbers remember their customers. When I return for another trim, all of the barbers I sampled in the past look at me expectantly as I pick a barber I haven't tried.
The perfect barber can cut my hair in less than ten minutes and only utter two words, 'hello' and 'thanks'. Ideally a barber should be able to figure out my hairstyle by LOOKING AT MY HAIR. I want something just like what you're seeing, but SHORTER. But this is never the case.
"Buzzed up the sides with a number three and about half an inch off of the top. Keep the sideburns at their current length." That usually works for me. But there are always fuck-ups. Sometimes I forget to say the last part about my sideburns, which always results in the barber completely removing them. Great. Ice Ice Baby. Sometimes the barber bulks at the buzz-number I've selected; informing me that my hair will look silly if they cut it that close. I struggle to hide my incredulity. How can they not have standards for these things?! Afraid of what might happen, I usually tell them to use their best judgment, which works to my advantage about half the time.
Even when I find a barber that works for me, it never lasts. I enjoy a few months of talk-free bliss, until the barber thinks that we're friends, friendly, or something horrible like that. That's when I start hearing details of his personal life, what he did over the weekend, and all about his World Of Warcraft characters.
My search for a new barber starts with my next visit.