Otis
Footballguy
Look, I understand that what makes this such a great country is that we are so welcoming to others, and the country was built on the backs of people from all over the world. Melting pot ... diversity ... tired and poor ... free... brave. I get it. It's really a very nice sentiment.
But you know what the real problem is with our wide-open immigration policies? It's not overpopulation, or the economy, or terrorism, walls with Canada and Mexico, or anything else they discuss on C-SPAN.
Things are lost in translation. Important things.
I asked for a trim. Just a trim. This is four days ago. It still hasn't gotten any better. In a thick eastern European accent she asked me how I wanted it cut. I want just a trim. I think I said "slight trim." She nodded in acknowldgement. Not only that, but she followed it up with "not too short??" RIGHT. She gets it. Thank goodness. "Right! Not too short." Nice. I'm about to get a good haircut.
What many of these haircut folk don't seem to get is that the best haircuts are the ones where you can't even tell you had a haircut. Then again, for all I know, wherever she's from, perhaps it's a great status symbol, to announce to the entire neighborhood "HEY LOOK AT ME! I CAN AFFORD TO HAVE MY HAIR CUT!!" What do I know.
Wait. What DO I know. A lot. Like I asked for a trim. That's all I wanted. If I wanted to look like I do now, I could have enlisted and got it for free. This is not a trim. THIS IS A MASSACRE. This is a styling disaster that I'm still reeling from four days later, and that I likely won't fully recover from for weeks.
Was it something in the language barrier? She seemed to get it. I thought she understood. She nodded. She even gave me a verbal acknowledgement that we were on the same page. I thought I could trust her. At that moment, I felt like I was in good hands. And then, at some point, she even did that move where they grab a handful of hair, show you about how much they are going to cut off, and said "is this ok?" Is this ok? What the hell do I know. That's not all that different from some surgeon opening my chest to perform heart surgery, starting his first cut, and then pausing, looking up to me at the table, and saying "how's this? Deep enough?" THIS IS YOUR JOB, NOT MINE. I have no idea what cutting off that much of my wet hair on that one part of my head will translate to over the course of a completed haircut. I don't want to have to give you that input. You know what I want. Just a trim, remember?
Next time I am going to spend a good 5 minutes discussing with her what I mean by trim. Ultimately I think it's something along the lines of "See how it looks right now? I want it to look like that, just a little bit neater. So cut off very, very, very little hair. Got it?" I could go through the exercise of explaining to her that I would rather come back once every single week to see her and have her trim off millimeters, all the while it looking the same and me just giving her more business, than having one butcherjob that I have to spend the next two months trying to recover from.
I'm a grown man. Don't give me the Stand by Me cut. It looks absolutely ridiculous.
Sigh.
But you know what the real problem is with our wide-open immigration policies? It's not overpopulation, or the economy, or terrorism, walls with Canada and Mexico, or anything else they discuss on C-SPAN.
Things are lost in translation. Important things.
I asked for a trim. Just a trim. This is four days ago. It still hasn't gotten any better. In a thick eastern European accent she asked me how I wanted it cut. I want just a trim. I think I said "slight trim." She nodded in acknowldgement. Not only that, but she followed it up with "not too short??" RIGHT. She gets it. Thank goodness. "Right! Not too short." Nice. I'm about to get a good haircut.
What many of these haircut folk don't seem to get is that the best haircuts are the ones where you can't even tell you had a haircut. Then again, for all I know, wherever she's from, perhaps it's a great status symbol, to announce to the entire neighborhood "HEY LOOK AT ME! I CAN AFFORD TO HAVE MY HAIR CUT!!" What do I know.
Wait. What DO I know. A lot. Like I asked for a trim. That's all I wanted. If I wanted to look like I do now, I could have enlisted and got it for free. This is not a trim. THIS IS A MASSACRE. This is a styling disaster that I'm still reeling from four days later, and that I likely won't fully recover from for weeks.
Was it something in the language barrier? She seemed to get it. I thought she understood. She nodded. She even gave me a verbal acknowledgement that we were on the same page. I thought I could trust her. At that moment, I felt like I was in good hands. And then, at some point, she even did that move where they grab a handful of hair, show you about how much they are going to cut off, and said "is this ok?" Is this ok? What the hell do I know. That's not all that different from some surgeon opening my chest to perform heart surgery, starting his first cut, and then pausing, looking up to me at the table, and saying "how's this? Deep enough?" THIS IS YOUR JOB, NOT MINE. I have no idea what cutting off that much of my wet hair on that one part of my head will translate to over the course of a completed haircut. I don't want to have to give you that input. You know what I want. Just a trim, remember?
Next time I am going to spend a good 5 minutes discussing with her what I mean by trim. Ultimately I think it's something along the lines of "See how it looks right now? I want it to look like that, just a little bit neater. So cut off very, very, very little hair. Got it?" I could go through the exercise of explaining to her that I would rather come back once every single week to see her and have her trim off millimeters, all the while it looking the same and me just giving her more business, than having one butcherjob that I have to spend the next two months trying to recover from.
I'm a grown man. Don't give me the Stand by Me cut. It looks absolutely ridiculous.
Sigh.
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It's just not the same.
I only go on Saturday mornings because that's the only time I know she will be there. Knowing she won't #### it up is worth that inconvenience
It's just not the same.
It's just not the same.
When you're like me and have a hairline that looks like crop circles left by drunken aliens, the only sensible thing to do is clear cut the dome.
on this one.
This sorta reminds me of that Sesame Street when Ernie takes a small bite out of Bert's cookie. To cover it up, he has to take a couple bites around to even it out and make it circle. He doesn't quite get it right though, and continues with this exercise until the cookie is gone. 
