I shall avenge thee!!! Bearded threats.

Since getting married I have learned to understand my wife’s motto, “my stuff is our stuff and her stuff is her stuff.” That’s fine, I’ve never had anything that I was particularly attached to anyways, until after we were married. While continually wearing a scruff throughout our dating and early marriage, it was not until a few years into our marriage that I grew a beard. I came to love my beard. I am Moses and my beard is my staff.

Now for guys out there on a budget, you know how difficult it can be to find a barber that can actually provide a decent haircut for under $20. Recent months had provided me good luck with a local barber establishment known for their accommodation to men’s interests. No, not bikini clad stylists. Just sports on TV all the time.

On a recent excursion for my monthly haircut, I arrived at the barber’s on a Wednesday morning. There was only one stylist present, and I was her only customer. A few minutes after the stylist began cutting my hair it was apparent that this gal was not a seasoned professional. In fact, my deductive reasoning would lead me to believe that her working on a Wednesday morning means she was probably a member of the B-squad. No matter, I’ve fixed more than a few sub-par haircuts in my life, so I just settled in for the remainder of the flight.

As the stylist approached the completion of the haircut she continued with the various trimmings of the neck and so on. She then asked if I would like my sideburns trimmed. Despite doing my own beard upkeep, I usually anticipate needing to do a beard trim after haircuts, so I conceded that she could trim up my sideburns. Many other stylists had previously trimmed my sideburns so I thought nothing of it. The usual process is the stylist uses a clippers with a guard on it just to shorten the sideburns a little bit.

Now I previously mentioned that this was a sports themed barbershop. The particular attraction of this shop was televisions placed in between the stations. Stupid NFL keeps re-showing all those crazy hits from the previous Sunday. So my attention was not focused on the minor issue of trimming my sideburns, but rather James Harrsion shortening some poor fella’s life by three years.

A few moments later the barber informed me that she had completed my haircut. I turned in my chair to face the mirror and my brain failed to register what it was viewing. My mind started to churn to decipher what was going on. My best guess is that at whatever twenty-minute seminar on haircutting this gal had attended, the instructor taught them to trim sideburns by cutting in with the clippers and shaving down, creating a nice straight edge. Unfortunately, the physics of this process don’t exactly translate into a successful trim when the client has a beard.

So there I sat, a decent haircut on top, my nice bushy beard on the bottom, and a one inch gap on either side separating my hair from my beard. Hmmm. After an awkward 30 seconds of silence the barber sheepishly chimed in, “should I shave the rest of the sides or do you want to walk out that way.” Well, at least she understood that me walking out of the shop looking like that would have warranted some odd looks, multiple discreet cellphone photos, and a few calls to the police. “Yeah,” I said, “Why don’t you go ahead a shave the beard off.”

With instructions to leave the mustache and goatee, the barber proceeded to shave off my beard. She then moved to the side where I could again see what I would have to classify as a party prank. She left my mustache, goatee, AND THE ENTIRE BEARD ON MY NECK! Another 30 seconds of awkward silence. “Should I go ahead and shave the neck too, or…” “Yeah, why don’t you go ahead and shave the neck.”

Left with an adequate haircut, a shaggy goatee and mustache, and the memory of a savagely assaulted beard, I promptly stood up, paid the barber, gave her a two dollar tip (standard for haircuts of less than $20) and thanked her for her work. Looking back, I have determined I must have been in clinical shock, something along the lines of what other victims of violence experience.

I drove home in silence.

At home I was met by my wife sitting next to our sleeping daughter. She cocked her head slightly, noticing something was amiss, but unable to immediately identify what it was. I looked at her with mournful eyes and mouthed the words “Worst. Haircut. Ever.” She finally noticed what was amiss, and smiled sheepishly as I headed for the shower.

AFTERWORD:

Seeing as I had an interview the next day (the whole reason for getting the haircut) I trimmed the remnants of my beard into a nice mustache and goatee combo. The following day, after the interview, we headed over to the in-laws house for dinner. Upon opening the door I was met with a mirror image of my father-in-law wearing a nicely trimmed mustache and goatee combo. This wasn’t going to work. After arriving back home that night I immediately shaved my face clean to start over.