Before Leighton tells his story, let me provide a little background. We had both discussed getting haircuts this week, perhaps shorter than normal. Which is fine for me. My hair is usually pretty short. So getting a "2" guard cut isn't that short. Leighton, on the other hand, has a problem. I'll let him explain, in his own words, with a few minor edits from me. Last thing, before we get to Leighton's story...He came over to my apartment around 945pm. I was talking on the phone to my side kick, Abbie. I opened the door and said "Oh god. Leighton has no hair. I'll have to call you back."
The Haircut From Hell.
By Leighton Schubert.
It was a fine Tuesday afternoon. The sun was shining, a bird was singing a lovely tune, there was not a cloud in the sky. But little did I know, there were dark clouds looming in the distance of my day.
I needed a haircut. So I marched down to my normal place, which shall go nameless for their sake (editor's note: TGF on West Grey). After signing in on the list, I was quickly ushered to a waiting station. There was a nice (editor's note: old) Vietnamese lady waiting to cut my hair. (editor's note: this same woman cut my hair within the hour of butchering Leighton's hair. She kept saying nonsense to me and I kept pretending not to hear her. She was clearly rattled.) We exchanged the normal hair cutting pleasantries and I informed her I wanted my hair to be shorter than normal. (Little did I know my wish would soon be granted..)
She pulls out the clippers and proceeds to cut three quarters of my hair with no issue. Then it happened.....
As she was trimming the left side of my hair with the clippers, some sort of malfunction occurred. The details are a little fuzzy, but as far as I could tell the guard on the clippers must not have been attached correctly. Said guard fell off and the lady then made another swipe at my hair with no guard on the clippers. Yes, NO guard! (Editor's note: Oh boy!!)
All hell then proceeded to break loose. Everyone in the vicinity, both customers and employees alike, reacted with an audible gasp at the sight. The Vietnamese lady attempted to "fix" the problem by combing over what was left of my hair that she did not buzz off. Oddly this did not work.
The manager then headed over for a strategy session to figure out how short we would have to cut the rest of my hair to match with my new "hair style." After a short meeting of the brain trust, we decided I would have to have a 'one' guard in order for it to match. So that is where we stand.
The best part of the story is that upon leaving, the people that were waiting in the lobby area were all telling me that it did not look that bad. Nothing like pity from complete strangers. I may be wearing a hat for the next 4 weeks.
Above is a picture of my new haircut. (Jager Bombs anyone? How about you Willy Mac?) I look like a mix between a private in the Army and a convict...