Written by Chuck, Sept. 16, 2008

I had the opportunity to travel to Dusseldorf Germany recently. When I stepped onto the plane at Logan I was six weeks into my current haircut. That is two weeks past the point when I typically begin to look ridiculous. I just did not have the time to get a trim prior to leaving which meant that I would have to get a cut in a foreign country. Fortunately, there was a salon inside the home office of our client. It should be mentioned that our client’s HQ location was not in Dusseldorf. That would have been reassuring. Instead we were going to Gladbeck, which is the little town well outside Dusseldorf. I am guessing that Gladbeck is the town most likely to have invented the color grey. Since I figured that I would never be in Dusseldorf when a real hair cutting facility was open, I should probably just go and take advantage of the employee discount.

It should be noted, for those not familiar with my hair history, that I hold the record for the most ridiculously bad haircuts ever received by one person. Unfortunately, when my hair grows long, it also grows out, into a Jiffy-Pop-like shape. So it must get cut, or I start to look like Dee the soda shop keeper from “What’s Happening.” However, if it is cut too short I end up with the “pebble on the top of Mt. Everest” (my mother’s term) effect of disproportionate head to body ratio. So there is a very fine line, and typically a period of about 23, hours when my hair actually looks right on my head.

Quickly, here is a brief history of Chuck’s bad haircuts:

Age 12: Mom cut it prior to a glee-club concert. (Yes I sang in the glee club and I am proud of it) She used the orange utility scissors (every house has a pair and every mom thinks they are OK to cut hair with) from the family junk drawer and went to work. When she was done I looked like a carnival act or “Cornelius” from planet of the apes.

College: Had a friend cut it to save $8.00. He had the Oster trimmers. We should have used the orange scissors as they do not have automated destructive power of the electric shears. When he was done, I was bald. Keep in mind that, unlike Michael Jordan, and Sinead O’Connor, my bald head is asymmetrical and frightening to look at. I know, because I had to look it for the next 6 weeks.

Age 24: Lashed out and spent $25.00 on a real hairdresser. He cut my hair and then, without any prompting, offered to let me have it for free. You can guess why.

Age 30: Had my haircut by someone who was later hospitalized that same week for dementia. (I am serious)

And so on.

So into the German salon abyss I go. The first sign that a bad haircut is imminent is that I am the youngest person in the place by about 1000 years. Lots of shin high pantyhose, and purses you could hide a bear in. The second sign of impending doom is that everyone openly stares at me and nobody speaks any English.

After being married to bad haircut guy for 11 years, my wife has offered some advice such as:

• If you walk in to salon and the people cutting your hair aren’t dressed like you, turn around and walk out.
• If you don’t feel like the person cutting your hair is really understanding what you want done, you should leave.

But here lies a real difference between men and women. No guy talks about how he wants his haircut for more than a sentence. That sentence is usually: “I’d like it shorter” or if you are really into it you might add “and I part it on the side.” My wife requires a full interview, references and a portfolio viewing before committing to a hair professional. This of course is the reason why her hair looks nice all the time. And why I have had to “explain” what happened too often.

So, after several charades like attempts to communicate that I would like my hair shorter, but not “pebble on the top of Mt. Everest” short, I think I have the point across. And then it gets weird. She leads me to the chair to get my hair rinsed. I lean back and have this really odd sensation that my grandmother is washing my hair. (A nice sensation when you are 5, a positively creepy sensation when you are 37). She finishes, tilts me forward to see the mirror and there is another elderly woman waiting with a roll-a-tray full of haircutting tools. I think, “Well that’s nice, she was just helping get set-up.” She wasn’t. She sat there silent and staring, periodically handing the number 2 scoop to my chain smoking Nanny Haircut. She stayed the whole time, just staring and handing tools. I think she was the oldest trainee for any job on planet earth. Having someone cut your hair with a lit cigarette in their mouth is probably another wife criteria for leaving, but by then I just did not have the nerve to stand-up (tall guy with half-cut hair in a hairdresser smock looks ridiculous). So I was locked in.

About five minutes later, I hear Nanny Haircut, say “Ja. Ist gut ja?!? I look in the mirror and I see, two old, smoking women looking proudly at their work which was the most art deco-haircut I have ever had. It literally looked as though the objective was to construct and isosceles triangle from left to right on the top of my head. “Ist gut?!?!” It’s a F!@#$ triangle! The only thing that’s “gut” here is that it actually has 180 degrees to it! This was of course spoken in my “inside voice.”

Now for those of you who don’t get bad haircuts, the worst part of the experience is when he/she holds the mirror behind your head and says “Ist gut ja?” Why? Because you have to lie. You have already gone past the point of “honest talk.” “Ja! Ist gut.” The second worst part is when you have to stand up and go past the waiting room to pay. Everyone always looks at you to see the before and after moment. Their facial expressions communicate their “whoa, does he think he looks good like that?” inner thoughts. For all of you who do the waiting room stare, “I do not think I look good.” The final injustice is when you have to open your wallet, pay, and then reach in for the tip. This is particularly galling as you now have to walk back across the room with an A-Frame on your head and thank her for a job well-done. Chain Smoking Nanny Haircut received 3 Euros for her Pythagorean effort. It’s OK though, because my hair will look good for one 23 hour period during the next 3 months.