In the spirit of queer concerns, I present my latest hair cut.
I know I shouldn’t go to Hair Cuttery, but I can’t continue to fly to London so that Greg at Harrods can cut it. I mean, I do have to pay my mortgage.
The thing about Hair Cuttery that makes it so difficult to get a decent hair cut is simply that they don’t speak English.
Now, at the risk of betraying my liberal credentials — and I’m not advocating an official national language here — shouldn’t a service company, which serves an English-speaking population, require it’s employees to actually speak that language?
She was a nice Asian grandmother, and I couldn’t bring myself to be mean. Plus, I had my glasses off so I couldn’t quite see what she was doing.
I asked her for a trim on the sides, but to keep the length on top that I’d been growing out for the last month.
Here’s how she interpreted that:
(To compare how long it was a month ago, look at this entry, and then decide for yourself if the 3 inches she cut off was in line with the “keep the length” directive.)
Not a bad cut you got there, but yeah, “keep the length” seems to have been loosely translated. Oh, Gene, what will we do with you? Just say no to the cheap haircut! (Easy for me to say, as I’ve been growing my hair out [read: lazy] for months and months now.)