Or at least a couple of weeks ago. Good God I needed a haircut! Good God! And what's up with the face... I think someone told me to bite down.
So I went and got a haircut. Some crazy cool Asian guy cut my hair. As I entered the barbershop, it being empty of customers, the two barbers were reading a newspaper in the mysterious language of chinese letters and symbols. There's probably a name for that alphabet, some word that I should know. But the guy sat me down, and three broken english words later, started cutting my hair. I don't believe either spoke much English as not a word was spoken thereafter. There's nothing wrong with that, but I thought it funny that their nametags read "Jeff" and "James."
I've had people cut my hair in five minutes, which I'm fine with as long as it looks good. This guy spent forty silent minutes circling my head, my hair getting shorter and shorter by fractions of an inch with each revolution. At one point I thought maybe I was suppose to stop him when I liked it... that he'd keep going until there was nothing left to cut. But he stopped eventually, my hair being shorter than I think it has been in six years. Check me out.
Oooo... Tiff finagled a little before and after action. These are pictures a la my first haircut ever pictures - minus the tears and the green bench/brickwall backdrop. My Mom will appreciate it. And the haircut.
Anyways, after the forty minute haircut, Jeff spent five minutes massaging my shoulders. It caught me off guard, but man-o-man did it feel good. I was wondering if I would pay extra for it, or the long haircut... if maybe instead of a classic barbershop, I had walked into some asian salon. I started looking around for a Mrs. Jeff dressed in traditional Japenese opera garb carrying tea or saki in some sort of bamboo tray. But alas, there was no such lady, and the final bill was just 12 dollars. And the Bull Run Barbershop earned another customer.
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