I have a confession to make. I’ve just had my hair cut at Fantastic Sam’s. Cost me twenty bucks, tip included. There, I’ve said it, it’s off my chest, and I can get on with my life. I was out running a few errands with my wife, looked in the mirror, thought “That hair’s lookin’ a little long,” and popped into the shop. The woman who was on-shift started cutting about a minute later.
The truth is, for decades now, I’ve been paying people in salons with fancy names like Casablanca or Savvy a lot of money to cut my hair. My latest one cost the most ever because the shampoo was done in a dark room with incense and New Age music and felt more like a mini-massage. Going to that place, though, always involved pulling out the schedule, often having to re-schedule because of my stylist’s day or mine changing suddenly, and building yet another appointment in an already busy day into my life.
About five months ago, in a rush and out of time, I got my hair cut at our local Fantastic Sam’s by a Persian hairstylist who was taking English lessons at the nearby community college. Two days later I went to dinner with a large group of friends and, out of the blue, one of them asks where I got my hair cut because they thought it looked so good. This precipitated a whole conversation of agreement from everybody else at the table. Now, mind you, none of these same people had ever, even once, commented on my haircut, even when I got it done by the people with the massage philosophy.
So, if it doesn’t make a difference, or it even makes a positive difference, I figure why not save the money and get my hair cut when I decide on a particular day? And, no, I’m getting no kick-back for saying this, although if Fantastic Sam’s wants to call me, I’m entertaining all options before I check out Supercuts.
Maybe I’ll get a really, really bad haircut in my next outing but, so far, ain’t been no complaints…
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