I have been a Super Cuts kind of guy my whole life. Recently though my allegiance to their lackluster cuts has been tried by a group of new hair cutting places that have opened around town catering to male clientele. These joints hire a bunch of sexy girls in skimpy outfits who bring you a beer or soda before cutting your hair in front of big screen TV playing sports. After avoiding these joints in favor of my tried and true Super Cuts for some time curiosity finally got the best of me and I went to one. It ended up being THE WORST HAIRCUT OF MY LIFE!!!!

The place’s gimmick is that it looks like an old school barber shop (except for the scantily clad girls and beer, of course). Upon entering I immediately saw three great looking women waiting to give cuts, and I thought to myself, “Hey! This really isn’t so bad!” As I checked in at the counter, however, a shifty, muscular and mustachioed biker dude scampered over squeezing in front of a pretty woman who had risen to cut my hair.

“So what do you think?” He said to the hostess. “Can I take this one? Can I? Puh-lease?”

Now I’m now no Spider Man, but right then my Spidey Senses were blaring at full blast.

The hostess seemed reticent to let him cut my hair, but finally relented. He practically whooped and extended his hand.

“I’m Timmy! Great to meet you, sport!”

I nodded politely as I followed Timmy to a chair. On the way I stole a look over my shoulder at the pretty haircut women who looked on, concerned.

“So how would you like your cut, man?”

“Well, I usually have the number four on the top then even it out on the sides with the scissors.” (NOTE: This may sound like gobbledygook to you, but I gave these exact instructions at my last twenty haircuts and always left happy.)

Timmy seemed confused. I tried to elaborate.

“You know, sort of like a flat top, but not so intense.”

Timmy placed a meaty paw on my shoulder while looking back at the pretty hair cut woman.

“Here’s the thing, pal,” he whispered. “I don’t really know what you’re talking about.  I’m an old school barber. All I’ve ever used are scissors and scissors and a little more scissors for good measure.”

Timmy laughed real hard. I shifted, uncomfortable.

“Maybe I should get one of the girls out front to cut my hair then.”

Timmy literally started to sweat. He leaned close to my ear and spoke into it with grossly hot breath.

“Today is my first day. I only got this job because I convinced the boss he couldn’t have a place with the word “barber” in the title and not employ a real barber. So they hired me.  But if I admit I can’t do a cut – on my first freaking cut – I’m done for. Finished. You dig?”

I wanted to sink into a hole.

“You will love your scissor cut. I promise.”

I was silent.

“I may not have the ta-tas the other chicks do, but I guarantee you we’ll have a better conversation. What do you think of Harleys?”

“The Guy from “Lost?”

“No! Harley Davidsons!”

Right about then I started fantasizing about being stuck in rush hour traffic on the 405.

“What do you say?” Timmy persisted. “Will you stick with me?”

In yet another example of my being too nice, I agreed. The nightmare only continued from there. The guy was chatty…I mean CHATTY..about nothing but Harley Davidsons. After about forty-five minutes of meticulous scissor cutting I put on my glasses to see that the cut…was NOWHERE near what I wanted as it was way too long  on top.

“What do you think, pal? I nailed it, right?”

I nodded morosely. I just wanted out of there.

As I paid at the counter all of the women looked at me with great pity. So much so they gave me a ten percent off coupon for my next visit. My next visit. Riiiiight.

One weird post script though….while the cut looked weird initially, it actually has morphed into a decent cut after a week or so. So maybe Timmy ain’t so bad after all. (I say this while praying never to meet him EVER again).



As I said it didn’t end up looking too bad, but it is not what I wanted…especially for 30 bucks! Note the unruly hair in front and fluffiness on top. To get the close crop I like I will need another cut in, oh, seventy-two hours or so. Sweet.