17th
trim job — postgame report
i’m back. i will try to deliver a blow-by-blow in as little time as the haircut took (about four minutes)
——-
they only take walk-ins, so i wasn’t delinquent for not calling ahead. i introduce myself as ‘jeff’ and then moments later forget i was ‘jeff’ and say ‘T.R.’ when she’s putting me into the computer. the stylist seems unfazed.
about 45 seconds after walking through the door i am in a chair. i am halfheartedly offered a shampoo — ‘you don’t want a shampoo, do you?’ — and i decline, confirming her mulletistic assumption.
she puts on bib and asks ‘what number do you want?’ — i have no idea what she means. she holds up a clippers and points to it. ahh… it appears the numbers indicate what length of buzz cut i will be given.
i tell her to decide. she says i look like a 2 on the sides, 4 on top. i warn her not to touch the back. she doesn’t smile or laugh. she’s indifferent. once or twice during the hasty cut i ask her if she likes my hairdo. she finally chokes out a response — ‘it’s like two different haircuts i guess? kinda cool.’ — i grin and nod, self-satisfied.
we’re almost done now. a baby in the lobby is crying. the phone is ringing. she slips away again. she stops to check on the color she’s applying to another customer’s hair. i take a photo of myself while she is gone. she returns and asks me if i like it. i tell her it looks great, but it needs racing stripes.
‘you’re on your own for those,’ she says, explaining that she doesn’t want to screw up my hair. i resist the urge to call her bluff by pointing aggressively at the mirror.
i pay up. the price in the ad i found was outdated. going rate is $14.99 (tax included) (and, for those wondering, i did tip)
on my way out i smile at the people in the lobby. they smile back. one guy gives me a thumbs up. the baby is still crying. i feel great.
as i walk back into the half-vacant shopping mall where i found fantastic sams, i hear my stylist talking to another employee…
‘he says he’s had it for a couple months…’
‘seriously?’
‘i guess so…’
yeah. i guess so, fantastic sams…
——-
i don’t know what to make of my first (only?) fantastic sams experience. they were nice enough. but there really wasn’t a high level of service. and then on the way out they ripped on me.
on the other hand, the mullet looks more bitchin’ than it ever has. so perhaps it’s a victory?
i guess the jury’s out until i finish my own racing stripes.
-BIFPIB-
