Will it grow back?

I found myself in Midtown this afternoon.  I was around Stern (not by choice, I was meeting a friend at Mendy’s for lunch) when I remembered that my roommate’s girlfriend had mentioned her hair salon was near Brookdale.  I recalled, as well, how badly I needed a hair cut.  She said it was just across the street.

I hate hair cuts.  They never turn out the way you asked, there’s some stranger poking around with sharp objects near your head, and for weeks after it’s all over, you’ve got that “I just got a hair cut” look.  I’m not a big complainer, but hair cuts drive me nuts.

During my stay at YU, I’ve gone though some harrowing hair experiences.  The first was when I stupidly went to University Cuts, or University Barber, or whatever that sketchy place on Amsterdam is called.  The guy didn’t speak English and there was no antiseptic container for the scissors, only a gross jar.  The best part was half way through, when he said, “Uh…you know the good thing about hair?  It grows back”.  At the time, I thought that to be the worst phrase one could hear when getting a hair cut.  

I was wrong.

You’d think I’d learn to stick to English speaking barbers, but no.  On the YU Italy trip this summer I stumbled into a normal looking Italian Barber shop and stupidly thought, “Well, I’ll give it a go, I need a hair cut anyway”.

We somehow negotiated a price, despite the language barrier.  They led me back to one of those sink-chairs and sat me down.  When they had my head back in that awkward sitting up, head washing position, the lights whet dim and crazy, Italian techno music started up.  Strobe lights came on and I felt like that dude from Eurotrip, who was caught in a similarly vulnerable position (though much worse for him).  

I was in a daze from all the flashing lights and loud music, but they managed to get me into one of the seats and started to cut my hair.  After some time I began to realize the barber was crazy.  I looked like a chea pet (Tani can testify to this).  The Roman barber mumbled out, “Eh…you like?”

I said, “Well, it’s a little crazy.”

“Eh…this shop is crazy!  The music is crazy!” he said as he leaned in to say quietly in my ear, “And we’re all on the crazy stuff!”

At which point I realized, “It will grow back” was no longer the worst thing to hear from someone cutting your hair.