Two Haircuts/One Day

Like dead cow parts in the refrigerated back room of a supermarket, I got butchered.

Oh yeah.

I mean, look at that! I stopped at my normal barber Tuesday after work, and I asked He Who Shall Not Be Named for my normal fade. What I got though, well, I'm not really sure what it is. Shit, there's a goddam bald spot! I've been there 5 or so times in the past year. Dude only charges $12, unheard of any more.

And I didn't even see it til I got home. He showed it to me in the hand mirror just prior to getting off the chair and it looked ok. Guess it was the lighting.

But when I saw it, I was mortified.

Call me vain as hell, but I couldn't even go to the gym, as planned, looking like this. Shit, I couldn't even go to bed with that atrocity on top of my head. I needed to get this fixed. But it was 5pm. Most barbers are closed at this time. I decided to hurry over to my Jamaican friends at Top Cut on Whalley Ave.

I went there once, two years ago. I got one of the tightest most precise-ist fades ever.

My man Mark hooked it up.

I ran in, frantically, ripped off my gray Polo knit hat and yelled out to Mark, as he stood there clipping the hair of some dude, and the other barber.

"Can you guys FIX THIS!?"

The other barber cringed in horror, I could see it in his eyes.

Mark said, "Of course ma dude. Might be awhile ya!?"

And there I sat, but 15 minutes later, the other barber, whose name by the way is Dave, called me to the chair, and within 10 minutes, magic happened.

In the hair stylist battle between the Old Italians and the Young Jamaicans, well, I think we all know who wins that one.