Free Haircuts at Barb's House!

0845 hrs 04 June 2001

BEFORE My employer has some funny ideas about how I should cut my hair. Take a second to think about that the next time you want to complain about how much your job sucks. I'm even required by regulation to wear a certain kind of underwear, but that's a different story. I've tried a few different regulation haircuts and I look like a dweeb in all of them, so for the last couple years I've told the barber to just put the number four comb on the clippers and mow my head, which they're more than happy to do because it takes about two minutes and they still get five bucks.

Anybody could do that, right? I could probably do it to myself, if I didn't mind going through the contortions to safely reach the back of my head. Barb has graciously volunteered to do the honors, though, so I won't have to pop myself out of joint, and she's done a cracking job for as long as she's kept the comb on the clippers.

Today, while she was squaring up the hair at the base of my neck, she popped the comb off and said he was "just going to blend it in a bit," and made a swipe at my head. Then I heard her make a sucking noise, the kind you make when you're watching those reality video shows and you see the little kid fall off the footrest and bonk his head way too hard for it to be funny. She took a step away from me and stopped working. I said something like, "I'd like to see what you just did, please," but she didn't go get a mirror right away. "I'm sure it can be fixed," she said, crying and laughing at the same time. After I had a look she went almost completely to pieces, so I took a while to calm her down before I called to mobilize the camp barber to Immediate Haircut Emergency Status.

AFTER The camp barber had a good chuckle but said she's seen lots worse, and quickly tidied it up. Only wanted a pound for it, too, although I gave her more. She certainly earned it, and the right to spread the story around camp.

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