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Don't get me wrong, I love having a fresh do and enjoy the ability of hearing because my hair is no longer lopping over my ears. I simply hate the process, not the end result.
Allow me to explain.
Normally I walk into a salon and am greeted by this:
Next, he/she (whatever that is above) takes me back to a chair which belongs to Tenequa, The Hair Goddess (at least she thinks she is). This is Tenequa.
I tell her what I want, but I don't think she is really listening. She is completely engaged in a conversation with Opal (the stylist next to her) speaking in a language I don't understand. Not that I could understand anything because the music is so loud I can't hear the whining clippers assaulting my scalp... When they do try to talk to me and make polite conversation, I cringe and pray to find just the right answer that will disengage any need for further dialogue... She can just keep talking to Opal about who is pregnant now...
...just cut my hair.
She completes my "style", I drop a $20 on the counter, and I thank goodness I don't have to do that for another two months (or hopefully longer)!!
Well, today, something different happened.
I took the boys to school, and on the way home I noticed a shop called "Our Barber Shop". It is located on 10907 South and State in Sandy. The Phone is 801-576-5651. My wool had grown quite long and uncomfortable so I decided to give it a try.
The first thing I noticed was how busy it was. Lots of old, old men. The youngest patron was in his 70s. Instead of Tenequa, I was greeted by Harold. He must have been 75. His partner in crime, Raymond, had plenty of life experience as well. There was old fashioned music playing and everything seemed to move just a little slower. It was a breath of fresh air.
I sat down in a super comfy, black chair. Harold inquired how I liked my hair and I told him "just make it look nice" and off he went. It was wonderful! He told me about how things used to be. That you could eat at Chuck-a-Rama for $2.50. He told me about his military days. We discussed interesting things. It was like talking to my grandpa whom I miss dearly.
I knew I had arrived when every new/old comer entered the clingy door with the same greeting from my barber... "How you doin', Harold?" His response, "Still on the green side of the grass!"
And then the haircut... He cut all the normal things when I get my haircut, but then the real fun began. He heated up some shaving cream and began applying it to all those annoying places like my neck and around my ears. With quick, professional precision, he whipped out the biggest razor I had ever seen, and commenced his slaughter of all my pesky, unwanted follicles. At first, my heart began to beat a little faster, after all, he is a little advanced in age and one slip meant my jugular, but after a few minutes I just sat back, relaxed, and enjoyed the shear and shave.
And then came the old-man trim. He razored my burns, neck, plucked my ear hair, trimmed my bushy eyebrows, yanked out my nose hair, and he even took care of those filler hairs attempting to bridge the gap between my eyebrows creating my ominous unibrow. Well, not not today...
...not under Harold's watch.
After a final dash of aftershave, I was done.
I felt like giving Harold a hug.
Today, I am definitely happy I am "on the green side of the grass!"
PS... All for $10!
