Species of Barbers

I got a haircut today.
It was very nice.
I can see now!
And the lovely frigid Logan air is hitting my head full-force, since the unruly mop is no longer there to deflect it.
Favorite part: When they use the buzzer on the back of my neck. I might have to buy a buzzer just for that.

The ladies in salons/barber shops are often, well, interesting.
Mostly in a bad way.
For the most part, I've had bad experiences with hairdressers.
They look at me, a hairy teenager, and figure that I'm just going to settle for some of my shaggy head-material all over the floor and itching my ears for a few hours until the next time it gets long enough to bug me.
Some of them have been good, yes, but I don't skip into the hair salon and plunk myself into the nearest chair, quivering with excitement for the hair particles I get to pick out of my shirt afterward.
Here's a few interesting types of hair dressers I (and probably you) have encountered.


The Mouse
This is a really quiet type, usually short-haired but not excessively so, who hardly says a word. I'm not one to want to chat with every person that comes near me 100% of the time, but I feel a little bit awkward if someone who's suddenly taken an immense interest in my head doesn't say a word to me. Am I doing something wrong? Do I intimidate you? Doth my hair offend you, oh mighty barberess? More often than not, this poor lady won't seem to be too sure of herself, and will mess up slightly here and there. Just ask me what I want, and if I'm happy with what you did, so you don't act like you're afraid that I'm going to whirl around and yell: "THIS HAIRCUT IS THE MOSTEST AWFULLEST HAIRCUT EVER. A RABID HEDGEHOG COULD DO BETTER THAN THIS! I'M GOING TO STICK MY HEAD IN A BLENDER TO GET RID OF YOUR AWFUL HAIRCUT."

The Sorority Girl
This type. Ohhhh this type. The 20 something type with really short hair, lightning quick hands, and a mouth that won't quit moving. Quite honestly, I've received my best haircuts from the younger ladies (maybe they sympathize with me a bit more or something) but please, for the love of everything tranquil and sane, could you give me a break? I don't know why you find such an interest in the scent of my dog's breath, the trees in my front yard, or the shape of my professors' noses, but do you see anyone else in any social setting asking these kinds of questions? Then, to make matters worse, do you have to interrupt me and compose a Hamlet-worthy monologue about your own dog's breath and how it killed 37 cats last year? I came for a haircut, not a counseling session. No, I won't tell you how often I clip my fingernails. That's just weird.

The Cookie Cutter
You walk in, some scissors and a buzzer get rid of some hair, and you leave. Regardless of what you asked for or what you suggested during the haircut, this gum-smacking gal just out of a training program will give you a machine-pressed haircut that quite honestly only looks good on five year old boys. Most of these are found in Great Clips.

The Nosy Housewife
Do you ever sit down in a restaurant or at a bus stop and hear on-going gossip about sensitive topics on a regular basis? Not usually, but it does happen sometimes. Apparently, though I'm not sure why, hair salons create a privacy invasion sphere where it's okay to talk about whatever the heck you want. Husbands, other ladies at church, husbands' annoying habits, other peoples' kids, things they wish their husbands would do but don't, how often celebrities pick their nose, and more of the shortcomings of husbands. Some rather invasive and sharp things are traded back and forth by some of these ladies, who all seem to be under the impression that it's perfectly acceptable to discuss how annoying it is when their significant others leave a pair of stinky boxers on the floor. I once was stuck with two of these gals  talking over my head, whilst I and the other unfortunate gentleman getting his hair cut had a silent pity party with each other. Thank you Lord for sending that man. I doubt I would have made it out alive if I had to suffer alone.

The Gargoyle
The worst of the worst. The most horrible and inconsiderate of them all. The one who asks you what you want, then ignores you completely. She proceeds to give you what she thinks would look better instead of what you asked for. From the moment you sit in the chair to the moment you leave you are simply a bag of meat with a wig on for the gargoyle to cackle over and mutilate however she wishes. Then you leave with Lord knows what artistic abomination on your head. And weep softly in front of a mirror.


A piece of advice: get a haircut at a local hair salon, not some big commercialized outfit like Super Cuts. If you really don't care, well, go ahead. May your flowing locks rest in peace.

Dead Week

Dead week.

What an ironic term.

More like

HOLY COW I'M GONNA FREAKING DIE IN A PUDDLE OF MY OWN TEARS ALONE IN A CAVE IN THE LIBRARY

week.

That's got a nice ring to it, I think I'll keep it.

What's that, you ran out of coffee?

You poor soul, may you rest in peace.

Peacefully asleep drooling on your textbook in a study cubicle.

I have an idea.

What if, *cough professors* students had a lightened workload during dead week?

So that, you know, they retain their sanity. And their ability to speak English.

You've had all semester long to teach us stuff, so why don't you lay off for five days while we work on

-final papers

-cramming for finals

instead of giving us the normal course workload on top of it?

I suppose you're the professor, and I'm the student. The grunt. The hunchback who says

"YEETHHPPTHPHPT MATHPHPHPBVHPTTER!" and promptly hobbles off to a computer to type the night away.

I have an idea. Another one.

What if the library installed a dead week room? This room would be filled with

-pillows

-microwaves

-professional masseuses.

Masseuse. Love that word. I can sound really pompous if I use that word.

Good night. I'm gonna go microwave a burrito, lay in my fluffy bed with a pillow, and wish I had a masseuse.