Adjusting to a new city is without its trials. It hasn't been the big things, because we thought about the big things when we were planning the move. We got an apartment, she got a job and I got into law school. We looked into neighborhoods and thought about where we wanted to go to get groceries, whether there woud be good restaraunts and we thought about what our commutes would be like. But we did not think of every little thing.
For instance, I didn't think about haircuts. As you may remember, I love getting a good haircut. It is one of the things I enjoy a lot. However, getting a haircut here has been something of an adventure. It was partially my fault. I had been seeing a great barber on Roscoe, just 4 or 5 blocks from my house. We'd started out with a little rockiness, but had really found our rhythem. He had started to remember me and what it is I wanted. It was good. And, of course, I didn't see him before I left. Instead, I thought it would be easy to find a barber here in St. Paul.
So, after a week or so of being here, I was in need of a haircut. I looked around on the internet with two simple criteria. I wanted to pay the same or less as I did in Chicago. And I wanted it to be close. It seemed simple enough.
So, one weekday morning, around 9, I searched around for places close to my new apartment. The closest I found was a salon about a block from my house, so I gave a call. They cost twice as much as I had been paying, so they were out. Then I called a barber shop that is three blocks from here. They cost the same, so I was in. On the phone, I asked if I needed an appointment and the woman said, "No. The barber will be in around noon, so just come after that."
So, I set out around 11:55 and got there a bit after noon. It was a small shop that was split down the middle. One side was a woman's salon and the other was the barber shop. The lady I was on the phone with was busy cutting a customer's hair, but took a moment to greet me. Apparently the barber hadn't made it in yet. It would be another 15-20 minutes. That's cool. One of the bonuses of being unemployed is that I don't have to rush anywhere and I can be a little more patient. So, I sat down with a three month old Entertainment Weekly and waited.
About 25 minutes went by and I heard the woman talking on the phone. "Well, there's a customer here and you better get here." Pause. "Uh-huh." Pause. "Sitting there. Waiting for you." Pause. "Uh-huh."
She let another 5 minutes go by before coming to tell me the barber was not going to make it in for another 45 minutes or an hour. Now, I know I don't have to be anywhere, but I'm not gonna sit around and wait for that long. So, I walk out and decide to try one of the other barbershops I saw, but didn't call.
I get there in 10 minutes and see that I am the only white guy there. This was one reason I didn't call the place when I saw it on the internet listing. I knew it was a barber shop that catered to black clients. That sounds racist, but I know there is some difference between black hair and white hair. And they get cut differently. So, Iwasn't really sure the barber would be used to cutting hair like mine. But, I put that all aside thinking I was being ignorant, and probably racist. And besides, the place is close to my apartment and costs the same I was paying in Chicago. So, I walk in and everyone does a double take. I notice right away that there are pictures of people and their haircuts on the wall and none of these men on the wall are white. This is probably not a great sign, I think, but I walk in. The barber asks if I'd like a cut and I say yes. It'll be about 20 minutes.
So, I pick up a local neighborhood newspaper and wait. It takes about 20 minutes, but he gets to me. The cut goes pretty uneventfully. He uses the scissors on me and it takes about twenty minutes. And it looks okay. I can tell by the way the barber was doing everything that he hasn't done a lot of white hair. But, Ias I was looking at it, I think he did okay. I pay him and give him a good tip. And I walk out pretty happy.
A week or two go by, however, and it doesn't hold up. Like it just doesn't grow out well. Normally, I can make a haircut last 4-6 weeks. This one lasts about 2 before I really feel like I am looking shaggy. I push it to 3 before I'm back to the drawing board.
In that interim, I found out my brother-in-law gets his hair cut at the Hair Cuttery. And I decide that's just fine. There's one that's not too far from me. It's not walking distance, though, so I will have to ride my bike. So, one Monday morning, around 8, I get my bike out and start to bike down Summit Ave. only to fine that my back tire is flat. Luckily, this is one of the little things Dinah and I had already looked into, so I walk my bike to the bike shop. Except, shit. It does not open until noon. So. I walk the bike back to my apartment. Hang out. Eat lunch and head back to the bike shop. It takes them 20 minutes to replace my tire and I'm back out on the hunt for a good haircut.
I arrive without incident and lock my bike to the fence outside. I get in and talk to a woman who enters me into a computer. She tells me, "After your haircut, I'll make notes about what we did and then you'll get the same thing if you want it." Sounds good to me. I wait 20 minutes and I'm in the chair.
The haircut is going well. She uses the clippers on the back and is shaping my hair nicely. She pulls out the clippers and starts doing something worrisome. She pulls the comb through my hair, pulling it straight, then starts clipping with the scissors quickly, bringing the scissors in as she's clipping. It goes without incident until she gets to the front of my head. This time, as she's coming in, she moves in with the clipper too quickly and slashes through the first layer of my skin scratching me. I react as you would expect. I pretend it didn't happen--an act she's all too happy to go along with. I think, it's just an accident and the rest of the cut is going well.
When she finishes up, I am really happy with it. She tells me she used the three and six clippers. Aside from the scratch, which is not as noticable as I thought it would be, this is a good haircut. I can run my hand through my hair. It's short, but not too short. I'm so happy I tip her big and bike home confident that I will get this cut again and again.
Fast forward to a couple weeks ago. It's the week before my ten year college reunion and it's been about 5 weeks since the magic cut. I head back to the Hair Cuttery and I am happy to see the same woman is there. I give her my name, but there's no entry for me in the computer. This doesn't bother me much because I know this woman cut my hair before, I can say the same thing to her and mention the clipper numbers and I'll get mostly the same cut. Right?
Yeah. Not so much. I tell her the clipper numbers and say, "just trim it up". She starts at the top with the clippers and after the first cut, I can tell this is not going to be the same cut. This is going to be short. Too short. But now there's nothing I can do. She finishes her butchering of my hair and I pay and tip her and I'm off. It's not so bad. It's okay even, but it's not the cut I wanted. *Sigh*
It's been a couple weeks since I got this cut and my plan is to let this grow a bit. I have a wedding in Detroit in a couple weeks, so I will probably have to get it trimmed before then. And I'm leaning toward heading back to the Hair Cuttery, but I guess I will see.
Anyway. Thanks for reading this long, stupid post about my hair.
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