His name is Joe, with perfectly parted, if not slightly pasted, jet black hair. Looks in his 50’s. Built like a boxer that’s still ready for the ring. Some unknown aftershave drifts off his shiny, and very friendly, face. I give him the style-I-want pitch and he immediately starts on top. Two soft plastic fingers screed a bit of hair, as the other hand scissor snips. How’s that length?, he asks. My first A.I. haircut.
While Joe continues to finger pull and cut, he casually runs down a list of discussion topics to select,. But they’re all so brain-based I pass and choose “None of the above, Silence”. He quickly and effortlessly navigates around my dome and comes in close to work around an ear. That’s when I swear I hear the tiny grind of a gear as he nips off some stray hairs.
While my thoughts and eyes are busy in this awkward quiet, his silence is vacuous. Is his processor on idle, running on battery saver, how many cuts can he do without a recharge, maybe 8 complete shave-offs or 5 crewcuts for every 2 ½ regular cuts or one long-haired chop and shape?
Joe finishes in five minutes with that unwavering smile, spins the chair and hands me a mirror. The cut is exquisite, the blending flawless and behind me, the heightened gleam of his face. This haircut, so immaculate I know when I leave here, if the wind blows one way, my hair will flop into the perfect casual tousle, then back the other way, return to a seamless quaff.
Will I give Joe another chance? Maybe, especially if he expands his list of discussable inventory. A haircut is the perfect time to wonder and ponder about life, to complain and commiserate, to be sure, to share details and personal moments, sometimes. For me it’s an opportunity to pry off the cover of our facades and see what makes the other tick.
In this case, I’m dying to undo a few screws, push a few buttons.
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