I went to my normal barber shop today. I was greeted by a VERY loud woman who proceeded to interrogate me for my name, address, and phone number. She was also holding a 2 year old child, and periodically turning her head to fuss at at a 4 year old child somewhere in the back. What the hell. This is not the normal experience I get when I go here. She shakes my hand and introduces herself as the owner. I know the owner. He's got a [penis] and I am pretty sure she doesn't. I assume it must be his wife and pity his misfortune. It is at this point that I realize the two folks working there today are both chicks. Okay. Again, this is not normal. No biggy really though. I get assigned to a woman in her 30's wearing a leopard-print shirt/jacket/thing and a red skirt. She has dyed dark yellow hair with the roots slightly showing. It's boy short, but that doesn't stop her from tying weird little pony tail things in the one or two inch long strands at her neck. It was at this point that I should have ran for the exit, in hindsight. But I really needed a damn haircut. The woman cutting my hair attempts to make small-talk over the din of children screaming and the owner "shushing" and mothering them. I am gripping the arm rests of the chair like I'm at the dentist. The alleged owner decides to prop the door open and let in a breeze. The apron over me is blowing up an down, and hair is billowing like tumbleweeds. Did I mention its 37 friggin' degrees outside? The woman cutting my hair is visibly annoyed, but is unable to do anything since it is her boss and her boss is clearly giving off the "I'm in a [itch bay]y mood" vibe. The lady asks me what I do and I tell her I work in studying past climate, environmental change. That sort of thing. She immediately asks if any women do that. What? After a long "uhhh..." from me as I tried to comprehend how she got to that and where this was going, I replied that while my specific subfield is dominated by men, there are several women who are quite prominent in the field, and in my discipline in general it is actually a pretty even mix. She seems mildly disappointed, as if she had something ready to say to a different response, but reluctantly says "oh. good." One thing about this place is that it gives a complimentary old-fashioned neck-shave with a single edged razor whenever you come in. This leopard lady hippy chick massacred me. Massacred me. Cold water. Scraped off every bit of my skin like she was preparing a paternity test for the Octomom's litter. I thought I had found a good place to get a hair cut, but I'm horrified to ever go back there now. My only other obvious options that are close to me is a chain called "Floyd's" which looks over-priced and more like a man salon, and "The Best Little Ole Hair House in Colorado" down the block that, well, is named after a musical. Also, do any of you guys let them mess with your eyebrows? I don't. if I were Anthony Davis, I'd consider it but I think they're fine.
There's a Korean place just off post here at Bragg, okay, there's a whole road just off post that might as well be a street in Korea, so I didn't narrow it down any for those that know Bragg. But, they do better at a military haircut than anywhere I've been in country. The only place that beats them was the supposedly gay Afghani that cut my hair when I was downrange (aside for him- I get a fade haircut, which is pretty much a standard Army thing and he's the only person I've ever seen that starts the fade at the top of the sides and works his way down. If you ever want to be freaked out by a haircut, find a Special Forces guy you know, become one or support them like I did and live on their camp in Bagram. It looks so weird while he cuts it, but comes out perfect everytime). Anyways, back to the story- They not only do the neck shave with a straight razor with hot water and hot foam, but give you a head massage for $9. I've fallen asleep to the head massage on multiple occasions. And, before this gets out of hand, I'm talking about the head that includes two eyes, a nose, two ears and a mouth. I hate having military hair, but these people are the saving grace. As for eyebrows, never had mine touched, but lots of the Hispanics here do. some go to great lengths to have perfect eyebrows.
I go through hair phases. For 3 years I buzzed my own head. For 2 years I used supercuts. Now I get my hair cut once a year, and shave every 3 months. People sometimes give me money on the street.
i've got a legit MILF cutting my hair. i could give 2 craps less if she cuts it right or not, she is so fine. she's divorced and 25. dark complected. i'm basically in love w/ the girl who cuts my hair, and doesn't do it well
Sportclips is a superclips with TV's, shitty sports memorabilia and overweight women with hair styles most commonly seen at zoos. Apparently all that equals a 20% premium.
I go to the Broadway Barber Shop in Maryville. There are two guys that work there. Paul, age 81, and Cecil, age 74. They are open Tuesday, Wednesday, Friday and half a day Saturday. On the off days, they go fishing, regardless of weather. There is a large snakeskin hanging on the wall, and they have an old-style coke machine. A bunch of old men hang out in there and talk shit. It is everything a barber shop is supposed to be.
I believe I'll start this business. The girls can dust your neck off with their large, obnoxiously fake [breasts].
When I first moved here I went to the local Super Cuts to get a haircut. I go in, put my name down, get called back, think nothing of it. I quickly decipher that the lady cutting my hair is definitely skanky, prob early to mid-30s at the time, but little did I know how much. She starts asking me where all I like to go out and such, and proceeds to tell me about her tiger paw tattoo that goes from her neck down to her "you know" (her words). She then goes on to tell me she loves to party, hook up, and at one point when she bends over to do something asks me "Now did I just catch you looking down my shirt?" with a flirty grin. (I wasn't, for the record.) While this stuff usually doesn't bother me and I can at least go with it, I was as uncomfortable during this as I have ever been in my life. I think I went back in there one more time before I was introduced to Paul and Cecil, notice she's not there, and in making small talk with the lady cutting my hair this time ask her if she was of today, and found out she got fired. Can't say I was really surprised.
When I first moved here I went to the local Super Cuts to get a haircut. I go in, put my name down, get called back, think nothing of it. I quickly decipher that the lady cutting my hair is definitely skanky, prob early to mid-30s at the time, but little did I know how much. She starts asking me where all I like to go out and such, and proceeds to tell me about her tiger paw tattoo that goes from her neck down to her "you know" (her words). She then goes on to tell me she loves to party, hook up, and at one point when she bends over to do something asks me "Now did I just catch you looking down my shirt?" with a flirty grin. (I wasn't, for the record.) While this stuff usually doesn't bother me and I can at least go with it, I was as uncomfortable during this as I have ever been in my life. I think I went back in there one more time before I was introduced to Paul and Cecil, notice she's not there, and in making small talk with the lady cutting my hair this time ask her if she was of today, and found out she got fired. Can't say I was really surprised.
I go to this lady who runs her own little shop like a half mile from my house. Mom took me there for my first haircut ever and we went to her for years until I started going to a barber with Dad. This guy is really good and is the most highly regarded barber in town. Unfortunately, no matter when you went, there were 5 or 6 guys ahead of you so you were always in there for a [dadgum] hour or more. [uck fay] that. I now make an appointment with the lady close to the house and I'm in and out of there in about 10 minutes.
The barber who cut my hair since I was a kid got sick, so for the past couple of years I've been going to another guy. I think he might be insane. He drives around with a lifesize cutout of Barak Obama riding shotgun in his pickup. He posts under the alter of a mildly retarded black woman on the local gossip forum. He keeps a supply of some drink whose main ingredient is something called Horny Goat Weed. He does a decent job, but even if he didn't, I'm not sure I could leave. He knows where I live.
