Haircut

I got a haircut today. Same haircut I have gotten for years - No. 2 trimmer size on the back and sides, half an inch off the top and blended in, sideburns taken up, mutant neck hair removed, no gel, no hairspray. It's all there, right in the computer. I walk in to the Great Clips and give the lady my phone number and she knows what to do. I go to Great Clips because it fits my style. Cheap, fast, no fuss, no muss, plus they have a cool little punch card so after 9 haircuts my tenth one is free! I have a friend who loves to get his hair cut. He loves to have someone running their fingers through his hair, the snip snip snip of the scissors. He tends to go to the expensive salon style places where the stylists are aspiring or recently rejected models. My stylists tend to be the older, divorced, slightly frumpy, but thoroughly likeable salt of the earth types. They talk to me earnestly about where I work, where I live, what the weather's like. They tell me about their kids and relatives or sometimes they just cut my hair. Unlike my friend, I don't really find anything about a haircut relaxing; it's more of a utilitarian function of life.

There is, however, something about sitting in that chair with a total stranger rapidly moving a sharp, pointy, metallic object very near my head that reminds me of my humanity. In that chair I (or, more specifically, my hair) is at the mercy of this person. I have little choice but to make my style request and hope that my sylist follows through in a way that I won't find comical. What's wonderful about this is that it is a shared experience among many of us. We sit in that chair and put our heads' fates into another's hands. Prince, pauper, king, business executive, intern, waiter, patron, etc... we all sit there, just for a brief moment, and hope.