I skipped my weightlifting class today to get my hair cut before work. It’s this really old barbershop that prides itself on being a place for “real” men and not hipsters. I needed a haircut and they were in walking distance to my work, so I went.
I walked in and a guy asked me, “you here for a haircut?” And I said yes, in a -trying to be confident but I’m nervous as hell- kind of way. I put down my jacket and hopped in the chair and told the guy my guards. I said, “I’m not going to walk out of here with a pixie cut, right?” And he laughed. And then we were silent as I held my breath for the 30 minutes he spent on my hair. The other guys in the chairs had their attention split between FOX News on the little tv and girls walking by outside. I was mostly cringing internally in the tension between truly enjoying myself and being terrified.
He finished up and ripped off the white paper from my neck and I went on with my day.