So long summer....

As mentioned in What I’m Doing With My Physics Degree Part 2, I am a beach lifeguard during the summer months.  Being out in the sun and salt air every day, my hair goes from dirty blonde to almost white naturally.  It’s one of my favorite perks of the job.  I wear those bleached locks proudly, as it quickly differentiates me from the tourists (and it helps with picking up girls).  Now after summer, my tan quickly fades but my hair doesn’t.  So every fall, I drag my feet when it comes to getting my haircut.  I dread looking in the mirror and not seeing the lighter shade associated with summer fun.

Well this year was no exception.  However, after being away at school for 4 years, I forgot how caring (READ: ANNOYING) my mom can be.  Now let’s be clear, I am not a metrosexual.  My idea of personal hygiene is very similar to most other guys: just do things to avoid smelling.  I rarely do more than rake my hair with my fingers before going out and my last three haircuts were performed by myself.  Well Mama Sheil took it upon herself to make an appointment and pay for my next hair cut.

So knowing how accepting and tolerant my friends are, I should probably not even admit to this experience, but the reason this haircut is blog worthy is because it was at a salon.  To be precise, the same salon my mom goes to.  Now, this was my “birthday” gift and I really didn’t want to insult my mom by skipping out on the appointment so I decided to acquiesce. 

This was the first time that I’ve ever had an appointment for a haircut, and I don’t know if I ever will get a haircut without one again.  I usually run into the barbershop when I have time, the place is packed and I’m forced to wait in line.  Not only is this time consuming, but it turns the experience into a game of Russian roulette (just instead of dying, my dome’s mangled for a few week).  I don’t have a choice who cuts my hair, I just get whoever is open at the time.  And they usually have trouble understanding how I want to look.  Apparently, most barbers speak a different dialect of English where “just a trim, please” translates to “please god make it so I don’t recognize myself in the mirror for the next few days.” 

Anyways, I was immediately greeted at the salon and Kelly (the girl who was supposed to cut my hair) was phoned from the front desk and notified of my arrival.  It was like I was waiting outside the office of an important business man waiting to get buzzed in.  I initially regretted coming here as I hate to even think that I care about my appearance enough to be at such a legit place to get my hair “styled” instead of merely “cut”.  However, I quickly perked up, and by that I mean I saw some very attractive young stylists walking around.  By the time I dismissed them as eye candy (I am into girls who are more tom-boyish, athletic, outdoorsy and I doubt I’d have much in common with a hair stylist), Kelly was standing before me and invited me back. 

I walked back and she motioned me to a comfortable looking barber-chair to sit down it.  I sat down and she immediately started playing with my hair (BITCH, I DON’T KNOW YOU LIKE THAT).  She asked me what I wanted and still rather uncomfortable with the whole experience I just blurted out, “Yeah I want my hair long, but I don’t want a mullet.  So can you clean up the back and sides?”  She then quickly walked away.  WTF!?  I just told you what I wanted and you walk away like I didn’t say anything??  This is gonna suck.

Turns out I was supposed to get my hair shampooed.  Well I didn’t have the heart to tell her that I had just done that 30 minutes ago (I even splurged, pilfered some conditioner from someone else‘s bottle in the shower and went to town on that bad boy).  I figured I’m already trespassing by being here, I shouldn’t disturb things more by throwing off the delicate routine of the salon.  So I sat down in front of the sink, leaned my head back (which is a pretty vulnerable-feeling position) and Kelly disappeared….  WTF IS GOING ON?  WHERE DID SHE GO? WHAT ELSE COULD SHE HAVE TO DO?  Well next thing I know another woman comes out of nowhere and puts a warm towel around my neck (alright, I can get behid this).  She starts washing my hair in the sink.  IT. WAS. GLORIOUS.  Oh my god.  She massaged my scalp, my temples.  She whipped the shower head around quickly and effortlessly without spraying anything unintentionally.  In this blissful state, my mind wandered.  I suddenly realized that she is the salon equivalent of a bus boy.  She must get tipped out at the end of the day, and judging by the number of stylists there, it’s a good amount.  Good for her, she makes bank for washing hair I’m almost jealo….WAIT…I Wonder if she takes pride I her job.  How seriously does she take showering and washing her own hair, there must be shampoos and conditioners that I could only dream of?  Then I thought of her getting done washing a customer’s hair, walking into the back room and being like, “Yeah I just washed the shit out of that hair…”  Anyways, this experience quickly ended and I was escorted back to the original barber chair.

Kelly soon greeted me and went to work.  She followed directions very well, and if anything erred on the side of not cutting enough.  A trait I admire in someone who has scissors near my head.  I was quickly dispatched and went home sans mullet, but blonde hair still partially intact.  The best haircut I've received in recent memory.

So would I do it again?  Probably not, I feel like I’ve lost a man card for going there.  And I had to lift in order to assuage this feeling of male-guilt I had.  But it was a rather pleasant experience all in all.