Inching Closer To The Haircut You Actually Want

, , , , , | Working | January 2, 2019

(I get my hair cut maybe once every six to nine months or so and while I usually try and stick to the same people, it’s a lot more difficult when you don’t go very frequently. I also have thicker, pseudo-curly hair which can be somewhat difficult to manage. It usually grows to my neck between cuts, so I’ve learned it’s easier to have it thinned out while they cut it, which actually winds up feeling really nice for me as it doesn’t it doesn’t quite grow back right. With the few “regular” barbers and hairdressers I’ve had this isn’t a problem… for everyone else, though, this usual exchange occurs.)

Hairdresser: “Hi! How do you want it today?”

Me: “Down to about a quarter of an inch all the way around, trimmed square at the neck, no sideburns, and please thin it out while you’re at it.”

Hairdresser: “Are you sure? A quarter of an inch is really short, and your hair doesn’t look like it needs to be thinned.”

Me: *still smiling* “I’m sure. I don’t get it cut very often, so cutting it that low helps it grow back the way I like. Also, it’s thicker than it looks, and it won’t grow back right if I don’t get it thinned out. I just like the feeling. I know that some people don’t know how a quarter looks, but I actually like it, so it’s okay. I promise.”

Hairdresser: *usually running their fingers through their hair at this point* “I don’t knoooow! I still think a quarter of an inch is too little, and this definitely doesn’t need to be thinned. I’ll just cut it down to about an inch and you can tell me how that looks, all right?”

Me: *sighing* “All right.”

(Then they proceed to cut my hair, having a difficult time with it being thicker as they cut it, having to switch manually to scissors, combing and cutting it down despite my already having combed out the tangles. They generally get tangled up as they have to keep parsing my hair back and forth, taking an extra ten minutes just to work on getting the hair down to an inch.)

Hairdresser: *pleased and showing me the results* “See? That’s about an inch; how’s that look?”

Me: “I’d actually prefer it to be down to a quarter of an inch and—“ *running my fingers through my hair* “—can you please still thin it out? It’d feel really nice for me.”

Hairdresser: *usually sighing* “Well, okay, but now that it’s already down to an inch it’s going to take me a little longer, okay? It’s such a shame to waste such nice hair.”

(None of them have ever been downright rude to me, and it’s a hard enough job with what is demanded of them. I also entirely understand that people genuinely don’t understand how long or short their hair looks on themselves, so I understand these feelings. But it still sucks to have this interaction almost every time I go to get it done and I don’t have someone that’s not willing to argue over it.)

Unfiltered Story #124625

, , , | Unfiltered | October 31, 2018

I personally do not work at this particular hair salon, but I walked into it to get my hair cut and was greeted by an enraged middle-aged man furiously shouting at the woman who cut his hair.

Man, “I want my money back! I paid you for a service and you did a ***ty job!”

Woman, “I’m sorry sir, but it is not company policy to pay you back with cash. You’ll have to call corporate and they can help you get your money back.”

The man is enraged by this statement and begins clenching his fists and shaking all over.


At this point, the man tries reaching over the counter to grab the woman. He gets part of her shirt but she evades him and grabs the phone to call the police. As the woman walks towards the back on the phone with the police, while being barraged with cuss words from behind her, a young girl (probably 14-16 years old) spoke out.

Young Girl, “You’re so immature! Get over yourself.”

Man, “What did you say to me you little *****?”

He begins to approach the young girl. At this point I feel like I should mention that I am the only other male in the shop. When this happened I was around 19 or 20 but I played college baseball at the time so I was in good shape. So, judging by how it looked like this 40-50 year old man was about get physical with a little girl, I decided it was time for me to interject. I got up and stood toe-to-toe with the man in between him and the rest of the females.

Me, “I have to ask you, do you have kids?”

The man is trembling with rage.

Man, “Yes, I do. Why?”

Me, “Because if you were my dad, and I saw you walk in here and disrespect all these women like this, and try to get physical with them, I would be beyond disappointed.”

Man, with his fists clenched and a violent look on his face, “…”

Me, “You’ve clearly had a terrible day. I can tell because no one gets this upset about a haircut. I mean, look at you. You’re shaking with adrenalin and it looked like you were about to hit a young girl.”

Man, “I… I’m just worked up.”

Me, “How about this. Just think about your kids, man. How upset will they be to hear that their dad had to spend the night in jail because he got upset over a haircut. I know you don’t want that image of you in your wife and kid’s minds.”

His fists unclenched, but he’s still shaking. He raises his hand up to me (I was getting ready to block a punch) and puts it on my shoulder.

Man, “You’re a good kid.”

He begins to walk out the door but is greeted by two local police officers who put him in handcuffs. So, I proceeded to have the most interesting haircut of my life which consisted of a grateful teary eyed woman cutting my hair and a police officer asking me questions.

Cut The Hair, Not The Bureaucracy

, , , , | Right | May 10, 2018

(I am sitting in a barber shop waiting for my turn. This place is part of a chain and everyone is asked their phone number and name to go in their system.)

Hairdresser: “Welcome to [Store]! Have you checked in online?”

Customer: “No. I’m just here for a haircut.”

Hairdresser: “Okay, can I get your phone number?”


The Salon Doesn’t Make The Cut, Part 2

, , | Working | December 28, 2017

(I go to my regular place to get my hair cut, and maybe my beard trimmed. Do bear in mind that I’m a guy in his 20s with a very straightforward haircut; it’s as vanilla as it gets. It’s also worth noting I’m on pretty good terms with the girl usually working there, but this time I see a rather sour-looking older woman.)

Me: “Hi, are you busy or can you fit me in?”

(She gives me the go-ahead. I quickly explain what I need done and the haircut begins. All seems to be in order until I notice my hair is starting to get a weird mohawk shape.)

Me: *in a casual, cheery tone* “Hey, sorry, could you please take that off the top there so it’s level? Also, just a reminder that I don’t like bangs, so those would need to be removed.”

Hairdresser: “Oh, no, I’m not doing that.”

Me: “What? “

Hairdresser: *rudely* “That’s stupid; I’m not giving a dumb haircut like that.”

(While I’m a very social and friendly guy, I also tend to have a short fuse when provoked. I feel myself getting mad, so I just stand up, take off the apron, and grab my coat.)

Hairdresser: “What are you doing?”

Me: *mad, but trying to maintain a civil tone* “I came in to pay to get my hair cut the way I like it. Whether you like my taste or not doesn’t really matter here; you can’t just refuse to do what I asked. Here’s the money, and bye.”

(She tried to stammer something, but I just went outside before she could finish, cooled off for a bit, then went to a new place I knew of about two minutes away. There were two girls around my age working there, and we all had a laugh when I told them why I’d seemed so pissed upon entering. They also actually did my hair the way I wanted them to. I’ve been their regular since.)



The Salon Doesn’t Make The Cut

Not The Sharpest Tool In The Box Today

| Cape Town, South Africa | Right | October 2, 2015

(I’m the idiot in this one. I go to the local traffic department to renew the vehicle license. This comes in the form of a round paper disc – about four inch diameter – which affixes to the windscreen, but is printed on an A4 sheet. Having time before my next appointment, I go to the barber’s for a haircut. There is a queue, so I am thinking that I can cut out the license disc while I am waiting…)

Me: “Excuse me, do you have any scissors here?”

(Cue hysterical laughter from all patrons and staff.)

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