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Shufflingdead > Articles > Extracurricular
A Bald Man Can Get Shit Done
It's not biology's fault that we are all doomed to contend with expensive and unnecessary hair care practices. I'm not sure what purpose evolution had in mind when it left us with these mops of fibers atop our heads, but it seems to me that the tyranny of the barber upon humanity is strictly self-inflicted.
A person simply does not need another person to obsessively hack away little bits of their hair; they could shave it off themselves. If I have learned anything from Captain Jean-Luc Picard, it's that a bald man can get shit done. I'll admit, it might take me awhile to get used to bald women, but for the sake of humanity, I am willing to make that sacrifice.
While I personally refrain from such treatments as dye, jell, and conditioner, (and have saved myself a lot of money, I might add) thanks to public pressure I have thus far in my life made seldom but consistent trips to that woebegone den of masochism, the hair dresser's.
The rage which I have experienced visiting this particular business is deep and multi-faceted. Typically, the stylist begins by asking how you want your hair cut, a reasonable enough start I suppose. My answer is always simple and understandable, "same style, only short." Somehow this is never good enough for the person who supposedly got an education specifically for cutting hair. Inevitably, they demand to know how much hair I would like cut off, in inches. Now, I only have a vague idea of how long an inch actually is, and I certainly don't know how long my hair is, so a more specific answer I can never give. It seems to me, however, that the hair expert really ought to be the person making these precise decisions. Not knowing the exact dimensions of your hair is apparently quite the insult to someone whose life is devoted to hair, and following this opening altercation my relations with the hair dresser are inevitably strained.
Following this, a person is left to endure what is probably the most uncomfortable session of small talk to take place in the retail world. For 20 minutes, as the hair-cutter makes their way across my head, I have to put up with whatever topic of conversation they may choose, they're the one holding the sharp object up to my head, after all. Sometimes this is pretty innocuous, though I have been presented with stories of sex parties and descriptions of horrible, personal medical conditions.
It probably comes as no surprise that I typically go to the cheapest hair dresser I can find; still, the low point of the trip always comes at the end, when payment must take place. $14 is too much for a job which consists of haphazardly sheering material down to a randomly determined length in the span of only 20 minutes. I was shocked to learn recently that when my friends visit their even more over priced barbers, they actually tip the person who cut their hair, this is apparently common practice. I truly cannot even begin to grasp this concept, tipping is taking place for what amounts to a round of mental torture and extortion.
It is for all these reasons that I have decided that my recent trip to the hair dresser shall be my last. Next time my hair becomes hideous and unmanageable, I'm just going to buy one of those electric razors with the adjustable settings, and attack the scalp myself. I recommend that for the sake of sanity, and in order to end the maniacal rule of the barber, everyone does the same.
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