Hair Club for Me

I am a relatively hairless individual. Once every 2-3 weeks I take an electric razor and rub it over my head and face. I call this grooming. I have had one haircut in 16 years. The day before my wedding. Until last night, I was also blissfully unaware of this thing called a salon. I guess I never read the signs closely enough and just thought it was disgusting (not to mention unsanitary) to attempt drinking a beer with so much hair flying around.

This all started last weekend. I went to the Belmont/Sheffield music festival to see the English Beat. Before the show I was meandering around the street fair to look at the booths that were setup and to try to find a beer besides Miller Lite for under $50. One of the booths had matches that they were giving away. My gas grill's starter is broken and we always need matches to start it so I grabbed a matchbook and threw it in my pocket. The lady manning the booth unhappy to just give away matches handed me a flyer good for ten dollars off a "salon treatment" known as "The Man." I nodded threw the flyer in my pocket and gave it as much thought as the matches.

A quick aside. During the concert the man standing next to me asked if I had a light for his cigarette. I initially said no but then remembered the matches in my pocket. I hunted through the accumulated street fair garbage in my pocket and pulled out the match book. Thrilled to be a team player during the concert I tapped the man on the shoulder and proudly lifted the matches over my head in triumph. Being a kindly, and slightly drunk, fellow I opted to light his cig for him. Having his full attention after my little match victory dance, I opened the matchbook to discover that there were no matches inside. It was a condom. I wish I could read minds as I handed him the condom and resumed watching the show. Back to the story.

When I got home I emptied my pockets of street trash and went to bed. My wife saw the coupon thing from Halo [for men] and decided to set up an appointment for me for Father's Day.

For full disclosure I should point out that I am not actually a biological father of anyone. I don't think. I am fully aware of the two dogs, one of them full toed, that reside with my wife and I.

I arrive at the salon and am assigned to a lady whose name I do not remember but will call Charro so we can all feel a connection to this lovely lady. She offers me a water, sits me in a chair and begins to cut the lower third of my hair. My head, for those of you who do not know me, has the same hair style as "Hey Now" Hank Kingsly. The silence is overwhelming Charro. She begins to do that small talk thing. I am happy to oblige.

Charro: When was the last time you had a hair cut?
One F: About 16 years ago.
C: (surprised) What?
F: (confused) What?
C: Why are you getting a haircut now?
F: It's a Father's Day gift.
C: How nice. How many children do you have?
F: Two.
C: Boy and a girl?
F: No, no. Two boys.
C: Must be easier, then. Two boys.
F: I guess. The little one is trouble.
C: How old are they?
F: One's 10 years old and the other ten months.
C: Oh!
F: Yea, the little one will nip at my wife.
C: What? He's able to get around?
F: He's very fast on all fours.
C: I guess so. What does the older one do?
F: What?
C: Does he chase the little guy?
F: Sometimes but he has had hip and knee surgeries so he is a little slow on the move.
C: Poor little guy.
F: He's just hapy we don't put him to sleep.
C: Well, kids love to be awake.
F: I suppose they do. I suppose they do.

And on the conversation goes. At this point it is time for a hand waxing and facial. I had never even heard of a hand waxing. We walk over to a vat of hot wax. Charro squirts my hands with a disinfectant and then slathers some teenage girl's room smelling stuff. She then asks me to dip my hands into the hot wax. "Uh, one at a time, please, sir. " As each hand comes out of the wax it is covered by a plastic bag and then by an oven mitt type thing.

Next, I am asked to follow her to a recliner type chair that sits in front of a sink. This is imbetween two very full haired gentlemen that give me a quizzical look that seems ask, "Why are you here? You have no hair." I sit in the recliner and a hot towel, a scalding hot towel, is placed over my face. Hot water drips into my shirt. I start to wipe it before it scalds my nipple but I am unable to find it with no eyesight and my hands incompacitated by the oven mitts.

Charro begins to wash my hair while asking questions that I am unable to answer for fear of the boiling water drippin into my mouth and giving me third degree burns on my esophagus. She eventually stops trying and silently washes my hair and gives me a scalp massage. I like this. I kinda zone out into my own world and begin thinking that this may be a funny piece to write about. I think about how she thought my dogs were human children that, like Damien, were cruising around the house at high speeds and biting my wife. I chuckle.

Suddenly, I realize that I have not spoken to this lady who has been rubbing my head for about 5 minutes and I suddenly shuddered for no know reason to her. It makes me chuckle again. I can't stop. I am sure she is thinking about charging me more for my "happy ending."

The oven mitts are removed and the hand massage begins. I concentrate on the music (Modest Mouse) to avoid any further embarrasing misunderstandings. After the massage, the now kinda cold towel is removed from my face. She smiles at me. I blush.

We walk back over to the barber chair and she finishes the hair cut, trims my goatee and 'stache. Small talk resumes. I am greatful.

Charro: You look great!
One F: Yep, this is pretty good.
C: Handsome. You're a handsome man.
F: Thank you.
C: Did you like the hand and scalp massage?
F: Oh, yea. Y'know, you should all offer just the hand and scalp thing. You could call it the "Half a Man" ("The Man" was the name of the procedure that I was undergoing.)
C: I don't know if that's good name.
F: I think it's a good name. You have to be pretty confident in yourself to come in here at all anyways.
C: What?
F: Just saying.
C: (long pause) Do you mind if I put product in your hair?
F: No, whatever you would like. You're the expert.
C: OK. (starts getting something out of a drawer)
F: May I ask you a question?
C: OK
F: What's product?
C: You put it in you hair to avoid . . .(long pause. She is a foot from my face and staring at me)
F: What?
C: I'm gonna trim your eyebrows.
F: Uh, OK.

After the eyebrow trim I get the same stop and stare and a, "Oh." I reply with a "Yea?" She pulls out a straight edge razor. I'm thinking that this will be great. We are about to straight edge the back of my neck. She then runs the straight edge over the TOP of my head. I sat stoically but I was sad. The remaining seven hairs on the top of my head had just been shaved off. And quickly too. Next, the product is put into my hair. She takes a huge gop of goo into her hand and then puts one finger in it pulling out 1/10000th of the stuff and lighty dabs the sides of my head.

We stare at each other for moment. "You wanna see the back?" I was not sure what she was talking about but I figure why not and she hands me a mirror and turns me around in the barber chair. Through the mirror I watch a man in a recliner jump about a foot in the air as a steaming hot towel is slapped on his face. "Looks good," I say.

The experience is over. I pay another nice lady $31 whom we do not have to meet and now it is time for a final decision. The tip. I go for $5. My wife later calls me a cheapskate. I guess I am just unable to make the saloon - salon conversion.