Cutting A Liar’s Hair

As many of you know, haircuts are usually an adventure for me.

In space, they use the flowbee. Stop it, don’t act like you don’t remember the flowbee. (photo public domain)

A few months back, I told you about how a tattoo covered old woman cut my neck with a straight razor during a hair cut. Some of you may recall the violent, yet surprisingly good haircut I got from Asian Dean Martin. And a very long time ago you might have read about my haircut/food poisoning lecture event.

Apparently my luck never changes.

My Newest “The Last Time I’ll Go There” Story

I headed over to my most recent usual hair cut spot just before last week’s vacation. I’ve been pretty happy with this place. It is where I landed after the straight razor incident. They’ve done a pretty good job. Good enough that I incorrectly believed that I’d found my forever haircut home. I’m always wrong when I think that.

This time, I was sitting in the chair and things were going just fine. The social dynamic of the shop was different this time; I was the only customer in the place. There was a lively discussion going on amongst the five women working. It barely slowed as I took my seat and my trim began.

While I watched my hair fall, I listened to the discussion. There had recently been a large social event that most of the women from the shop had attended. In preparation for the event, one of them had her friends do something new and apparently radical with her hair. Her husband didn’t dig her new look.

This led to an extended conversation of the faults of the male version of our species. Let me say here that I know these conversations occur when clusters of either gender gather. I think their intent is harmless and we all love one another despite our faults. These chats usually don’t offend me because of that harmless spirit, unless someone carries the matter to an extreme.

By now, you know that someone carried the matter to an extreme.

The F-ing Weapon Of Mass Destruction

The haircut and conversation continued, with me a passive participant in both. Actually, I thought the new hair-do woman’s husband was a jerk. I don’t understand the inner workings of the hair-do in question, but I do understand that making Princess Leia jokes wasn’t the best way for him to say that he felt that his wife’s hair did not flatter her. I sat there, watching my hair fall as the conversation whipped from a breeze of chat about this admittedly rude husband to a gale of words excoriating men in general.

Soon, Hong Kong will be the only place I haven’t had a hair cut. (image via Mk2010 CCbySA3.0)

And then came the f-bomb.

“They’re all f-ing liars, every f-ing one of them.”

At this point, I was glad my cut was through and no one had scissors next to my head. The stylist who was working on me was brushing the stray hair away in preparation for taking that plastic cover from around my neck. I usually have a strict policy of keeping my mouth shut at hair cut places since I am the only one without access to sharp items, but this time I spoke.

“Y’all do see I’m sitting here, right?” It got quiet.

I probably should have kept my mouth shut. But is there any group of people so homogenous that we can really say that “every one of them” possesses a particular trait?

In the end, I don’t care about the conversation. Those things happen. People shoot their mouths off. Even I do it sometimes. I’m just bugged that I have to find another place to get a haircut, because I popped off again.

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