The wife is on my ass to get a haircut because I am starting to look like Kramer. She keeps singing "Cha-cha-cha-chiiiaaaaaa" which imples that I look like a Chia Pet.
I tell her she should be happy that I still have my hair. People pay a lot to have curly hair like me. But in the interest of not listening to her for hours on end I went to get a haircut.
Now I used to go to one of my former clients who has a hair salon but I stopped going this year when I dropped her as a client. Plus I hate hair salons. They are like snake pits. Who wants to listen to those witches yammer. Plus they would all ask me tax questions and when she got excited he would cut my fuckin ear by mistake.
Luckily there is an old school joint down the block. The old Italian barber barely speaks English. He doesn't even know my name just that I am a big tipper. Guys come in and sit down and read the paper waiting for their turn. No talking. Just snipping. It's great.
Oh I got a 1970's razor cut just to piss her off.
Hee.
5 comments:
I fired my barber, too.
I get my haircut at one of the many shops that specialize in military cuts (Oceanside is a big USMC town). I try to go when they're not busy and get served right away. I always ask for a "number 8" (or numero ocho depending) which specifies the setting on their clippers.
No fuss, no muss. Haircut costs $9. I usually give a 6 dollar tip.
Does he take bets? All the old school barbers take bets.
Speaking of barbers, this is a picture of my barber's shop.
http://www.imao.us/index.php/2010/06/your-next-haircut/
The Boy and I go together. He gets all his thick hair completely shorn.
Sheesh.
Costs $20 for the both of us, and I usually tip $10.
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