I got a really, really bad haircut recently. It was one of the worst haircut experiences I’ve had probably…ever. I’ve had horrible experiences at those Great Clips, Cheap Clips, Happy Clips, Crappy Clips kind of places. So I purposefully go out of my way to spend a little more money on a haircut.
When I walked into this place though, I was feeling good. It was super trendy, lots of old furniture and painted stuff everywhere. It had a real edgy vibe. Lots of tattoos and piercings and vegans. I was hopeful.
My barber was a nice girl. She did the normal barber things and made the normal barber small talk. She asked what the plan was for the hairs. “A lot shorter on the sides, and keep it long on top.”
She cut with scissors on the sides, and we both decided to move to clippers to get even shorter.
This is where things went downhill. “Oops,” and two hours later, I was walking out of that place with a very confused haircut. We had called in help from another barber, broke a pair of clippers, fixed a patch that appeared on the side of my head, dropped things repeatedly, and at one point she literally put her hand to her forehead and shook her head back and forth, I think forgetting that I could see her behind me in the mirror.
Poor girl. Pray for her.
I explained to a friend that the whole experience was kind of like your classic family movie. We laughed, we cried, there was conflict, and in the end the resolution wasn’t all that great nor what you’d expected, but we’re still on good terms. Overall I dealt with the situation like a gentleman. I didn’t have anywhere that I needed to be, and half way through I thought maybe I was doing the world a favor. I mean, she’s got to practice on somebody. Sitting there getting my head massacred meant that the next guy would get a little less Edward Scissorhands than I did. I was paying it forward.
I’ve been praying through Romans recently and this morning read this passage: