The Barbershop Dilemma
I've lived in Jacksonville since 2006, and I have yet to find a barber who can give a decent haircut. The barbershops who specialize in military haircuts are one of the most undesirable things about my weekend routine, because they're efficient at getting massive quantities of people in and out in a timely manner, but the trade-off with that is that they don't usually give quality haircuts. It doesn't help that they charge $8 to cut the side of your head using nothing but a comb and clippers without a guard, and want to charge extra for using -- gasp -- scissors.
I'd say that the barber shops around here run the biggest scam going in this town. Their scam is even bigger than the car dealerships located just outside the gates of the base that prey on guys fresh out of boot camp and charge 29% interest with ZERO MONEY DOWN. So the boots double-time it out of Parris Island thinking they're invincible, armed with their first-ever steady paycheck (since they enlisted the day after high school graduation), and go into the run-down trailer on the car lot and sign away their unborn children for a 2011 Shelby GT500 Mustang. For those who have never been in the military, this is not something rare. It looks like a Ford dealership exploded and rained sports cars all over Camp Lejeune. But it's not like the barbers prey on young idiots like the car dealerships. The barbers prey on everyone, because every Marine has to get a haircut once a week. The barbers don't even have to advertise -- Marines seek them out to get ripped off!
Anyway, before going to the 'stan, I finally -- a mere three years after moving here -- settled on a place that does a decent enough job. And they don't charge me $10 when the sign clearly says $8, then look at me like I'm a leper when I don't give them a tip. But since moving into my new place I've been searching for a new barber shop. I'm just not up for driving all the way across town just to get a haircut.
So I've been to different ones and have had varying experiences with them. I tried one place, and I apparently walked in right as they were beginning an informal staff meeting. Instant awkwardness as soon as I walked through the door. They invited me in anyway, and I sat in a chair. One of the guys put the coat over me, tied it around my neck, and then was told by the boss not to turn on the clippers because they make too much noise. So I sat there for a good five minutes while they talked about professionalism, and around the time it deteriorated into arguing and screaming, the guy threw his hands up and started cutting my hair. They kept pointing at me like I was an inanimate prop, saying things like, "Why are we having this meeting with a customer in the chair?!" Like I was some sort of object that couldn't hear what they were saying. "Why are we having this meeting about efficient lighting with that lamp in the corner?!" It was one of the most unpleasant experiences I've had with the barbers in this town.
Until today, that is. I saw a place that was sort of hidden away, and decided to give it a try. As happened at the last new place I tried, as soon as I walked in there was instant awkwardness. I had to have been the youngest person in there by a good 30 years. Everyone in there stopped what they were doing and looked at me. If there had been a record playing (which would not have been unusual, given the age of the group), the needle would have scratched and the record would have stopped. I sat down on a waiting bench and noticed what was on the TV: some game show I've never heard of where two families compete against each other with health-related questions and games. It was like family feud meets prostate cancer. The host was wearing scrubs and a stethoscope, and proclaimed to be a doctor. All they needed was Wilford Brimley to come on and talk about diabetes (die-uh-BEET-us).
And the entire atmosphere of the place was unpleasant. Kitschy signs littered the walls -- the type of signs that are supposed to be funny but instead come off to me as snide. Like, "Lack of planning on your part does not constitute an emergency on my part." Ha ha! You're so snarky! The entire place smelled like someone just got finished smoking. The place was run-down like one of those super old high schools. I don't know, it just felt old, and like the old people who frequent it don't want young people there. Like at night they stop cutting hair and start hosting bingo tournaments and local VFW meetings.
So as I was sitting on the bench, there was an internal battle raging in my mind with ideas of what to do. Should I pretend to answer my phone, then walk out like I'm taking a call? Should I just suck it up and stay? Should I jump up and sprint to the door, knocking over the elderly as I bolt to my car? And then one of the ladies called me to her chair. She did a pretty good job cutting my hair in that special, medium-reg way that would get me shunned from society if I wasn't in the military. But I'm never going back. I've just resigned myself to getting sub-par haircuts and throwing money down the rabbit hole so the barbers can buy glittery, two-toned paint jobs and 22-inch rims for their cars.
I'd say that the barber shops around here run the biggest scam going in this town. Their scam is even bigger than the car dealerships located just outside the gates of the base that prey on guys fresh out of boot camp and charge 29% interest with ZERO MONEY DOWN. So the boots double-time it out of Parris Island thinking they're invincible, armed with their first-ever steady paycheck (since they enlisted the day after high school graduation), and go into the run-down trailer on the car lot and sign away their unborn children for a 2011 Shelby GT500 Mustang. For those who have never been in the military, this is not something rare. It looks like a Ford dealership exploded and rained sports cars all over Camp Lejeune. But it's not like the barbers prey on young idiots like the car dealerships. The barbers prey on everyone, because every Marine has to get a haircut once a week. The barbers don't even have to advertise -- Marines seek them out to get ripped off!
Anyway, before going to the 'stan, I finally -- a mere three years after moving here -- settled on a place that does a decent enough job. And they don't charge me $10 when the sign clearly says $8, then look at me like I'm a leper when I don't give them a tip. But since moving into my new place I've been searching for a new barber shop. I'm just not up for driving all the way across town just to get a haircut.
So I've been to different ones and have had varying experiences with them. I tried one place, and I apparently walked in right as they were beginning an informal staff meeting. Instant awkwardness as soon as I walked through the door. They invited me in anyway, and I sat in a chair. One of the guys put the coat over me, tied it around my neck, and then was told by the boss not to turn on the clippers because they make too much noise. So I sat there for a good five minutes while they talked about professionalism, and around the time it deteriorated into arguing and screaming, the guy threw his hands up and started cutting my hair. They kept pointing at me like I was an inanimate prop, saying things like, "Why are we having this meeting with a customer in the chair?!" Like I was some sort of object that couldn't hear what they were saying. "Why are we having this meeting about efficient lighting with that lamp in the corner?!" It was one of the most unpleasant experiences I've had with the barbers in this town.
Until today, that is. I saw a place that was sort of hidden away, and decided to give it a try. As happened at the last new place I tried, as soon as I walked in there was instant awkwardness. I had to have been the youngest person in there by a good 30 years. Everyone in there stopped what they were doing and looked at me. If there had been a record playing (which would not have been unusual, given the age of the group), the needle would have scratched and the record would have stopped. I sat down on a waiting bench and noticed what was on the TV: some game show I've never heard of where two families compete against each other with health-related questions and games. It was like family feud meets prostate cancer. The host was wearing scrubs and a stethoscope, and proclaimed to be a doctor. All they needed was Wilford Brimley to come on and talk about diabetes (die-uh-BEET-us).
And the entire atmosphere of the place was unpleasant. Kitschy signs littered the walls -- the type of signs that are supposed to be funny but instead come off to me as snide. Like, "Lack of planning on your part does not constitute an emergency on my part." Ha ha! You're so snarky! The entire place smelled like someone just got finished smoking. The place was run-down like one of those super old high schools. I don't know, it just felt old, and like the old people who frequent it don't want young people there. Like at night they stop cutting hair and start hosting bingo tournaments and local VFW meetings.
So as I was sitting on the bench, there was an internal battle raging in my mind with ideas of what to do. Should I pretend to answer my phone, then walk out like I'm taking a call? Should I just suck it up and stay? Should I jump up and sprint to the door, knocking over the elderly as I bolt to my car? And then one of the ladies called me to her chair. She did a pretty good job cutting my hair in that special, medium-reg way that would get me shunned from society if I wasn't in the military. But I'm never going back. I've just resigned myself to getting sub-par haircuts and throwing money down the rabbit hole so the barbers can buy glittery, two-toned paint jobs and 22-inch rims for their cars.
posted by Ryan at 6/01/2010
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