The Deserted Bandwagon

Author: MATT KUNZWEILER

I took a gamble and walked into a local barber shop. Eight minutes and $8 later my hair was two inches shorter, and the moment I stepped back on campus I knew people would say things like, "I thought the Flowbee® Home Hair Cutting System would have done a better job on the sides" and "I didn't know you were on the frisbee team."

But, to be honest, I knew what I was getting into. I had been a patron of this barber shop once before. The first time, I came in with a textbook mullet, hoping to "break up the party in the back" and walk out with a respectable haircut. Unfortunately, I couldn't tell the truth to the hairdresser and simply explain that my current hair style was a joke and that it involved boxed wine and a dare. The barber too had a mullet, of which she seemed rather proud.

"So you want me to cut off all this beautiful hair in the back?"

"Yes. Please."

"But why?"

"I think it's time for something new. A summer cut. Less hair."

She ran her hand slowly through my wavy neck warmer, shaking her head, lamenting. Through the mirror I could see her wince every time she closed the scissors on a long and rocking lock. I tried to talk about the weather to take her mind away from the painful task at hand, but it was to no avail. Luckily the haircut only lasted five minutes. I tipped generously when the deed was done, but it seemed to have no effect on the hairdresser. Instead of making eye contact with me before I walked out the door, she just gaped at the remnants of my mullet strewn across the floor.

The next time I had my hair cut, I went to the salon back home, the only decent place in town. I know the girls there and they know my hair. I always feel safe. When I sat down in the chair and Jen looked closely at my hair, she quickly snapped at me, "Who the hell has been cutting your hair?"

I explained, thinking it was all somewhat funny. But she glared at me like I was some sort of dirty, dirty hair slut. I desperately tried changing the subject to talk of her dog or the weather but she called the rest of her coworkers over to my chair and made me repeat the story. They made me feel disgusting. "It was a one time thing," I protested. "You know I'm loyal...but I was all the way over in Vermont and it had been so long since I'd done anything with my hair...and then there was all that boxed wine."

Jen led me over to the hair washing sink, pushed me into the chair and shampooed me violently. Trance music blared in the background. Throughout the haircut, I thought my scalp might give at any moment, the roots might lose their grips, my ends might split and fray.

But it was up there with the best haircuts I've ever had. Well worth the $40.