chop

While on my lunchbreak I caught my visage in the rear view mirror and noticed an unruly cowlick. I decided that now would be as good a time as any to get my hair shortened, and being that the sun was shining and the sky was clear I was in no hurry to return to work.

I drove around to a few of the more popular chain outlets, but the upcoming three day weekend had brought out the crowds. On my way to yet another clippery I passed an independent barber shop. It didn't have a pole, but it did have a large particle-board sign advertising a trim for five dollars less than I normally pay. Following my natural sense of adventure I pulled in to the pot-holed parking lot and went inside.

I expected to open the door and see an old man with a white coat and a dry voice. Instead there was a green-skinned black-eyed man sitting at a computer desk. The place was dark save for columns of light produced by harsh overheard fluorescents. Looked and smelled more like the waiting room of a sleazy auto-repair shop than a barber shop. The peculiar man gestured to what looked like a chair swiped from a 747 and told me he had to finish something up. He returned to his computer and clicked intermittently. An older bearded gentleman rose from a shadowy corner and eyed me suspiciously. Retreating to a back room. I sat down and found myself facing myself, reflected in a large gaudy mirror resting on a "natural" wooden table. My doppelganger was framed by Broadway showcards stuffed into the mirror's edges. The concrete walls were covered in pictures of wild animals. Coyotes, cougars, wolves. Stacks everywhere. VCRs, chairs, coats, rags. Throughout the duration of my time there I heard the "phone is off the hook" dialtone. Err-Err-Err-Err-Err-Err-Err.

I slyly turned to see what my "stylist" was working on. He was playing World of Warcraft. Playing World of Warcraft and drinking whisky. Jack Daniel's, straight from the bottle.

He finally finished what he was doing and mumbled to me "Sorry, was sending an e-mail to my ex-girlfriend. Where are my clippers..."

I smelled a pungent smoke about his person that may have explained his slow movements. The haircut was completed without conversation, which is the way I prefer it anyway.

Pretty good haircut though.