What a Repair Job

What a Repair Job

What a repair job by Jim B.

There are some things you should just never do for yourself, like surgery or a home haircut.

While the surgery decision is fairly obvious, thousands attempt home haircuts with scissors, electric razors, even garden shears. Many mothers are unknowingly responsible for their kids being beat up at school for having a mangled head of hair. Please stop the insanity and razor burn.

I’ve had some experience in this area, and the results were never pretty. There’s a reason we have trained haircutting professionals, and the investment of at least eight bucks for a real haircut is always a good idea. It will prevent gasps from friends, laughter from strangers, and possibly life-threatening injuries from scissors mishaps in the bathroom.

My mother never tried to cut my hair, but I took the scissors in my own hands on more than one occasion. While working on a cut-and-paste project in the third grade, I got bored and decided I needed a trim. I started whacking away at my hair sans mirror until a girl sitting in front of me turned around and assessed the situation.

“You’re doing it all wrong!” she said. “Give me those scissors.”

As a rule, I try not to argue with forceful women armed with sharp objects. So I let her do her magic. Unfortunately, her magic consisted of cutting off my bangs until I looked like Moe from the Three Stooges. She got in trouble with our teacher while I went to recess with the hood from my coat pulled firmly over my head.

I opted for a repeat performance a few times in middle school using a pair of scissors and the bathroom mirror. Since the mirror flipped my image, I never could get my bangs straight and kept cutting until I was back to my old Moe cut.

I would then run to my dad’s barber, who would sigh and shake his head after viewing my hatchet job.

“Who’s been cutting your hair?” he would ask accusingly. “You look like a female Moe from the Three Stooges.” His comment brought a little smile and laughter to me.

I still hadn’t learned my lesson. Last year, after my nineteenth birthday, when I went a step further and opted for the Kojak look by default.

After getting a crewcut from a barber, of my own choice, I decided I wanted it just a wee bit shorter. I had purchased a home haircutting kit, with clippers and attachments, several pairs of scissors, it even had a plastic frock. I thought I was preparing for a minor trim, but I was just dangerous.

I butchered my head so badly I’m surprised it was still attached to my neck. After looking in the mirror, I realized I was just going to have to cut it all off and shave my head. There was no going back. I had crossed the Rubicon and left most of my hair on the far side.

Having a shaved head was kind of trendy, so I thought I wouldn’t look so bad. Bruce Willis, his wife Demi, even Sigourney Weaver, have tried it. So I thought I might look like a movie star. Unfortunately, the only movie I qualified for was “Swamp Thing.”

My girlfriend, Gail, came over a little while later. When she saw me she gasped in shock and refused my request to help me finish the job. She thought I looked like a dog with mange, and she didn’t want to be incriminated as an accomplice in my hairicide.

I finally finished it was time to visit dad’s barber again, which I had done earlier that morning for my crew cut. This time when I walked into his shop he just stood there shaking his head, and motioned me to the chair. “Can’t do anything but shave your head,” he told me not knowing that’s what I started out doing.

He was quick about finishing the job I started. First, he ran the bare clippers over my head buzzing my hair to peach fuzz. Next, he lathered my head with warm shaving cream. Finally, the sharpened his straight razor on the leather strap on the arm of the chair, and shaved my head smooth to the skin.

When he was finished he dusted my head with that sweet smelling powder they use. I looked at myself in the mirror. I could not believe I had actually had my head shaved. I like the look of the smooth hairless head. It was fun, kind of exciting, touching my scalp. A feeling I wanted to keep for a long time to come. Gail just stood there shaking her head as she watched me finger my scalp.

Although I look relatively normal with hair, I have a slight ridge on the top of my head that makes me look like one of the Sleestack lizard people from “Land of the Lost” when I’m bald. The only plus from that experience was an editor told me I looked scary as hell, so I think I got fewer lame assignments.

So, before you pick up those scissors, or those electric clippers, think about what you’re doing. Most likely you’ll have to rush yourself to the emergency room for an emergency repair job. Or, to your dad’s barber to have him finish what you started.

The end

 

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