Hair Salon

Getting a haircut is full of anxiety for me. First, when I call to make an appointment, they always ask "Who cuts your hair?" Honestly, I don’t care who cuts my hair, but when I tell them this, I wonder if it’s offensive. Am I discounting their individual talents when I say it doesn’t matter? I do resist saying, "Just anyone with scissors," but I feel like they’re offended anyway. I just want an appointment time that is convenient for me.

When you get there she asks, "So what are we doing today?" I want to say, "Um, cutting my hair shorter? Duh?" but I understand that other people are more creative than me: "I’d like the Brad Pitt on the top and front, but layer it a bit on the sides and back with highlights and French twist with some bacon." I’ve learned to say, with confidence, with a thoughtful look on my face, while running my fingers through my hair, "Hmmm. Let’s take off about half of it." That’s the best I’m gonna do.

Then comes the hard part – small talk. I’ve actually asked friends to give me suggestions as to what I can talk to my barber – sorry, hair stylist – about as she cuts my hair. Weather is a no-brainer, but that always comes up first and lasts about 40 seconds. Then, she’ll ask about my kids, whose hair she’s cut for several years. I’ll ask about her kids. That’s about two minutes gone, total. I feel guilty when the conversation is made up of her asking me something, and then me answering and then asking her the same question back.

If there’s a local news story that’s relevant, I’ll sometimes practice how to bring it up with her, and if my courage allows, I’ll actually do so. This is a major coup for me. Often, I’ll just close my eyes and pretend to doze.

When it’s all done, she asks, "How’s that?" I try to look critically at my reflection, and say with sincerity, "That looks great," when in reality, I don’t really care much because, c’mon, it’ll grow back anyway, right? I do think she’s on to me here, though, because she doesn’t use the hand mirror to show me the back anymore.

I always finish by tipping a dollar more than I think is appropriate, because in my mind this atones for all of my previous sins. It’s worked, because she’s never shaved "Kick Me" into the back of my head. (As far as I know.)