Tuesday, June 30, 2009

In which I get a haircut and a new name

You might ask me, "Fancy Pants", for that is what you call me, I know - "Fancy Pants," you might say, "why the hell haven't you updated in forever?"  

And I might say, "oh, shut up." 

Or, you might ask me "Fancy Pants, how is it you are able to maintain your fanciness when you are broke?  Broke-ity broke broke!"  

And I might say, "Well, dear reader, I am quite creative.  Par example, I saved $80 on a haircut this weekend."

Impressive, no?  I'm verah clevah.

I went to my usual New York walk-in salon at noon on Sunday and was told that they could take me at 3:00 pm.  It's not a walk-in salon, I think, when you have to make an appointment to, er, walk-in.   So I went to the barber shop by my apartment.  Yes, I said BARBER SHOP.  I stepped in, expecting to see Andy Griffith and his wacky gang of Mayberry friends, but the shop was empty.  I called out and a gentleman appeared from the back.  "Can you trim my hair?" I asked.  He nodded.  "You pick chair," he said.  So I sat.

"What you like?"  he asked.  "Um, trim it, " I replied.  My hair is short anyway - pixie-ish - like a boy's, so I figured he could do it.  

"Where you live?"  he asked.

"Right next door." 

"Oh! You neighbor! Good.  I am from Russia. You look Russian." 

"No.  Part of my family is Czech, though," I offered.

"Oh! Czech!  Close enough," he replied.

He was a sweetie.  By the end of my trim, he had taught me an Uzbekistani history lesson, assured me I would find love and given me a fairly decent haircut.  For 15 bucks.  

Who says rich and fancy has to be expensive?

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