Hide your Hair

~In which Sadie and Mark discover a local barber shop~

During our trip in eastern Europe, Mark had been hinting that I needed a hair cut. My hair had now reached my butt, but I didn't have much motivation to chop it off until I tried to do yoga binds and got more tangled than I had intended.

I looked up nearby hair salons, but none of them were ones I recognized; and, afraid of getting scalped [monetary-wise, not hair-wise], I chose the one that had a review that it was decently priced.

So I go to the establishment and take a seat, and then I start noticing that every single person is African-American and male. I start to worry that I've made the wrong choice, but then I see a white guy come in, so that's one of my worries resolved. The other one (my gender) seemed to be disappear when one of the barber dudes asks what I need and doesn't tell me to go elsewhere.

Now, this is an old-looking establishment. The 3-4 barber chairs all seem to be from the 50s; there's no reception desk or card-reader anywhere that I can see; and there are no hair-washing stations either. It's just the chairs, the barbers, and the customers. Bantering conversation permeates the air, punctuated by the buzz of razors and ring of clipping shears.

Eventually, it's my turn to sit in one of the chairs. I tell the barber the approximate length I want it, and he wields his scissors and makes one big cut, and then gets into the more familiar rhythm of chatting and putting stuff in my hair, recommending hair products and telling me I need to drink a tablespoon of coconut oil a day for my health. He was nice, but I was feeling out of place so I thank him after a quick glance in the mirror and go on my way.

Mark's first comment is "Did you even get it cut?"

His second comment is "Is it supposed to be cut diagonally in the back?"

I had sort-of seen the same myself in that quick mirror glance, but rather than evaluate it then, I just put it up in a ponytail and thus temporarily fixed it.

But after several days, I realized I would eventually need to wear my hair down, so after showering, I get Mark's hair-cutting scissors and work at evening it out. Because the right side is, in fact, 2-3 inches longer than the left side.

I do the best I can from the front, and then call in Mark to help me trim it from the back. We get it squared away, and I decide Mark might be a better hair-trimmer than the salon shop. We tell each other not to go there if we want to look normal, and life continues.

But here's the kicker: Mark needs a haircut too. And I didn't tell him the place I went.

[building suspense here]

I get home yesterday and notice that Mark's hair is shorter. Or at least, Mark's hair is significantly shorter around the sides and back of his head. The top seems to be about the same length it was before, which kind-of makes his head longer and narrower.

And he tells me that he went to a nearby barber shop, and there were only 4 chairs and all African-American male barbers.

[uh-oh]

And he tells me those guys were arguing about the soccer game for 2 solid hours.

[sounds about right]

And then he tells me that he was in the barber chair that entire time, hoping that his barber would eventually realize he could get more customers if he cut hair faster.

And that the cost of the haircut seemed to be by the hour if we're just looking at the dollar amount and comparing it to typical men's haircuts' prices.

And we hope that more people can laugh with us on this one, because otherwise it feels like a phenomenal waste of time.

And we may be wearing hats for a couple weeks.