The Perfect Beginning

I'm not really sure why it always happens. It may be my state of mind during the activity. It is something I enjoy thoroughly. Possibly, and this may be closer to the truth, and I know some of them are going to read this, but, well, all hairdressers and people who cut hair are most likely insane.

I've written about my haircut experience before. Today, I had another. It's my belief the perfect haircut is two weeks prior to the function you are attending. After two weeks time the imperfections of any haircut will be diminished and you'll pretty much have your hair back to looking the crappy way it always does, but your comfort level will be supreme.

My yearly trip back to my hometown of Lowville NY takes place in two weeks. We will be attending a family reunion, one that I have missed for about the last twenty years. I am not proud of this fact. I have not put the effort in to attend the reunion in past years. We've always tried to plan our vacations home around fair week. I should have made time for this long ago.

Back to the hair cutterer. Yes, I received a coupon from Hair Cuttery. I used to go there because it was so close. Then, I started doing that Sportsclip thing because I like the head massages. Sportsclip has changed into something else, and the last time I was there they made it clear they were going to concentrate on women's hair, but that there male clients were still welcome. I then had the worst haircut, head massage, and neck rub that could ever be given. I didn't write about it because it would have been just bitching. They made their point though, so I am on the lookout for a hair person.

So, off I go to Hair Cuttery, and I sit right down. I nice, probably 48? year old woman puts the giant bib around my neck. Her fingers caress my neckline and I instantaneously take to this treatment like a tick to a dog.

She asks how I want my hair cut and I reply "shorter, everywhere." I don't wish to speak, and I could care less what my hair looks like when I leave this place, remember, I've got two weeks.

"Scissor cut all over?" She asks as she runs her fingers through my hair.

"yes, please, over the ears" is all I can muster.

She begins to comb my hair. It feels good too. She goes on and on combing over and over as I sit there, eyes closed, completely enjoying myself. She runs her fingers through my hair again, caressing the tops of my ears this time.

This is exactly what a haircut should be. The sexual overtones are rampant, but as long as no line is crossed it is more like star treatment. That line was far off as I settled in for a nice, slow, haircut.

I like haircuts, alright?

She began clipping. Even the sound of the scissors criss-crossing their way across my head has an almost primeval ease to it. The relaxation process is on full blast (80's reference) and I couldn't be more comfortable.

But, and you know she would, she began to speak.

"What do you do?" She asked with a smile.

"I work at the Poker room" was my dry reply.

"What do you do there?"

I knew she'd ask that. Everyone always wants to know everything about you. As if in knowing more about you they can somehow connect with you on some great level. Either that, or she's just nosy. Either way. I suppose she could been trying just to be nice, but I'm not buying it. (That is sarcasm, by the way. I'm not completely insane)

"I play poker". I may as well just tell her, although I am sure this is going to spark an entirely new direction in the conversation.

It's possible I told her because I am having a narcissistic moment. I want her to be intrigued. I want her to be interested. Wait, no. I want a silent, goddamn haircut.

Her response and following questions were NOT what I was expecting. You see, most people want to know what famous people you've met, where you travel to, what exciting things have you done, what's the most money you've ever won. Never what's the most you've ever lost (I assume because that is too personal).

"OOOhh! My brother plays poker at the poker room!!" But her face was not one of joy. She was sounding excited while not really feeling excited. I knew that look. It was one of displeasure.

"I bet there are a lot of regulars at the poker room" She queried.

"There are, but there is also a poker room in Orange Park, so you get a lot of diversity. It's a lot of fun."

I don't want to know her brother's name. I just don't want to know. I know I should ask her, but what if he loses the family farm or something due to poker? You must understand, most people lose at poker. I, personally, get very little of what any individual actually loses in total. But, I get some of it, none the less. Even if a person doesn't lose money directly to me, he loses money to someone else who will eventually lose money to me. That is the hope, anyways.

Her caresses have gone, and she roughly pulls at my hair to cut it. It's at this point she goes into some long description of some old man who goes into the quick stop to buy a hundred dollars in lottery tickets each day. The old man doesn't care what it cost and is happy and feels great if he wins just a free ticket.

I don't know what this story had to do with anything. Unless her brother is the old man and the lottery tickets are synonymous with playing poker, I can't see the connection.

"He should just bring that hundred to the poker room. He'd have a better chance."

I sincerely meant this. Playing the lottery is a futile attempt to strike it rich. The odds are stacked against you completely. You have a better chance of being struck by lighting, while pissing at the sky during a thunderstorm, than you have of hitting the lottery.

She then made some comment about old men and dementia. Now I really don't want to know her brother's name. If I had to worry about the state of minds of all of my opponents it would be very difficult to continue.

This haircut was sucking.

She finished up shortly after that. Not much more was said. She dusted off my neck, and powdered me up a bit, and took of my giant bib. As I was rising to go pay she said one last thing.

"There's still an hour left before you head off to prison". It came out like have a nice day. But, what a strange goodbye. Why does she think I would think the poker room is a prison?

I wish this lady played poker. Part of playing well is knowing what the other person thinks you have in your hand. I don't think she knows my hand at all. She has no idea I'm about to turn over pocket aces, again, and scoop a nice pot.

"yeah, but I like the color orange". I said with a smile. She had a quizzical look on her face. I paid my $5.99 for the haircut, and gave a $2 tip. Prison is calling. In one day the electric chair is powered up. A lot of people have no idea they are on the list for their date with the hot seat. I hope I'm not on that damn list.

To my hairdresser friends. As I wrote this I realized she was not crazy. But, I can't help but wonder what would have happened had she not began the twenty question thing. She probably had no idea of the mind she had in front of her. It is a fragile mass of protein that continuously wants to crawl in a dark hole and avoid the danger of the outside world. I think my distant ancestors were cave dwellers or something.

The search continues...

Codsey out.