shave and a haircut; two ti...errrr..bits
A long time ago in a Navy town far away, I was a young and foolish man. On occasion, I, with other young and foolish men like me, would band together for a night out on the town. On some of these occasions, the outings involved a strip club. Yes, we're talkin' one of those bars with a conspicuous pole on a stage, where sometimes young, sometimes attractive women would cavort with said pole, making sexually suggestive moves in the name of dancing. Granted, some of it was dancing, and a lot of it was a workout, but all of it was in the name of making me one severely sexually frustrated young and foolish man, and separating me from as much of my money as possible.
On some occasions, these outings would include a lap dance. "Lap Dance" is strip club slang for "single you out to be separated from even more of your money". It involved one of these women getting up close and personal with you and some of her privates, making you feel like a hundred bucks before relieving you of at least that much. It usually involved a shower of compliments, suggestion and innuendo, and when you left, she made you feel like she wanted you to come back and never leave...and you did feel that way...for at least a half hour after you left. Sometimes it was the next morning before sanity kicked in and you realized that it wasn't about your baby blues or quick wit or strong hands or whatever. It was all about the Washingtons. Yes, back then it was still Washingtons. I have heard that inflation has hit that industry too and Washingtons have gone by the wayside for higher denominations, so in a way I guess I got off cheap...so to speak.
It is with that background that we get to this past weekend and my trip to the barber shop. Once again, the hair that I do have was getting a bit long and it was time to cut it back into shape, so I went to the barber shop. It's one of those places that takes everyone. By that I mean it's not an old fashioned barber shop with the striped rotating red, white and blue pole outside, where women are rarely seen, and the ashtrays are the same ones they had during the great depression. Most of the hair cutting people in this one are women. It's a chain place in a strip mall, right next to the grocery store. Since I do the grocery shopping, it's convenient. I've been going there since it opened....about a year ago. This is a bit different from the place I used to go, which was a traditional barber shop. It's close to where we used to live before we moved to the middle of nowhere 5 years ago, and just became too much of a drive since the move. At some point I had to give in to convenience and the fact I was wasting gas. There though, some 80 year old guy named Eddie cut my hair, most of the clientele fit into a military or police uniform, and plastic models of military aircraft hung from the ceiling. Eddie was a retired Navy barber who still called me "Commander" a decade after I left the military.
So I'm sitting there, waiting my turn, and this woman walks in. She's attractive, slender and has...lets just say ample...breasts. Yes, I noticed. I'm a guy. She's probably 30-something. I got as far as thinking "Damn, what a rack." and went back to my magazine, thinking she's probably here to get her hair cut. Next think I know, she's calling my name, and leading me to a chair. OK, so she works here.
She asks me how I want it cut, which for me is a fairly simple thing. I don't have a lot of options when it comes to hair. Cut it shorter where I have some to cut. End of story. She's making conversation, asking me what I do for a living, how long I lived here, and so on, complimenting the hell out of me, and how smart I must be to do what I do, and I have such pretty eyes and where did I get that smile and...while she's not hitting on me, she's definitely brushing those tits across my cheek occasionally, while cutting my hair. Somewhere in that experience, I started getting that whole hundred dollar strip club feeling. I paid for the haircut and tipped her, more than I would have the gay guy across from her, had he cut my hair. It wasn't until she said, "Come back and see me again, soon" that it hit me. It really was the strip club thing all over again. A little more subtle maybe, but it was the same game. Get the guy to come back and tip huge. I mean, let's get the reality check. I'm pushing 50, my hair is thinning and I'm trying to get back in shape, which pretty much tells you I'm not in shape now. "Hottie" isn't exactly the word that comes to mind. Yes, it was an ego trip, but it was bought and paid for...granted, on a far smaller scale and less obvious setting than the strip club trip, but still.
Maybe I'm being a bit cynical, but how else to I explain the strange feeling I had when I walked in the grocery store? It was a sexual tension thing, but was it real or imagined, or was I in the Twilight Zone, and in that arena, aren't they all the same? Just didn't expect that in a haircut.
On some occasions, these outings would include a lap dance. "Lap Dance" is strip club slang for "single you out to be separated from even more of your money". It involved one of these women getting up close and personal with you and some of her privates, making you feel like a hundred bucks before relieving you of at least that much. It usually involved a shower of compliments, suggestion and innuendo, and when you left, she made you feel like she wanted you to come back and never leave...and you did feel that way...for at least a half hour after you left. Sometimes it was the next morning before sanity kicked in and you realized that it wasn't about your baby blues or quick wit or strong hands or whatever. It was all about the Washingtons. Yes, back then it was still Washingtons. I have heard that inflation has hit that industry too and Washingtons have gone by the wayside for higher denominations, so in a way I guess I got off cheap...so to speak.
It is with that background that we get to this past weekend and my trip to the barber shop. Once again, the hair that I do have was getting a bit long and it was time to cut it back into shape, so I went to the barber shop. It's one of those places that takes everyone. By that I mean it's not an old fashioned barber shop with the striped rotating red, white and blue pole outside, where women are rarely seen, and the ashtrays are the same ones they had during the great depression. Most of the hair cutting people in this one are women. It's a chain place in a strip mall, right next to the grocery store. Since I do the grocery shopping, it's convenient. I've been going there since it opened....about a year ago. This is a bit different from the place I used to go, which was a traditional barber shop. It's close to where we used to live before we moved to the middle of nowhere 5 years ago, and just became too much of a drive since the move. At some point I had to give in to convenience and the fact I was wasting gas. There though, some 80 year old guy named Eddie cut my hair, most of the clientele fit into a military or police uniform, and plastic models of military aircraft hung from the ceiling. Eddie was a retired Navy barber who still called me "Commander" a decade after I left the military.
So I'm sitting there, waiting my turn, and this woman walks in. She's attractive, slender and has...lets just say ample...breasts. Yes, I noticed. I'm a guy. She's probably 30-something. I got as far as thinking "Damn, what a rack." and went back to my magazine, thinking she's probably here to get her hair cut. Next think I know, she's calling my name, and leading me to a chair. OK, so she works here.
She asks me how I want it cut, which for me is a fairly simple thing. I don't have a lot of options when it comes to hair. Cut it shorter where I have some to cut. End of story. She's making conversation, asking me what I do for a living, how long I lived here, and so on, complimenting the hell out of me, and how smart I must be to do what I do, and I have such pretty eyes and where did I get that smile and...while she's not hitting on me, she's definitely brushing those tits across my cheek occasionally, while cutting my hair. Somewhere in that experience, I started getting that whole hundred dollar strip club feeling. I paid for the haircut and tipped her, more than I would have the gay guy across from her, had he cut my hair. It wasn't until she said, "Come back and see me again, soon" that it hit me. It really was the strip club thing all over again. A little more subtle maybe, but it was the same game. Get the guy to come back and tip huge. I mean, let's get the reality check. I'm pushing 50, my hair is thinning and I'm trying to get back in shape, which pretty much tells you I'm not in shape now. "Hottie" isn't exactly the word that comes to mind. Yes, it was an ego trip, but it was bought and paid for...granted, on a far smaller scale and less obvious setting than the strip club trip, but still.
Maybe I'm being a bit cynical, but how else to I explain the strange feeling I had when I walked in the grocery store? It was a sexual tension thing, but was it real or imagined, or was I in the Twilight Zone, and in that arena, aren't they all the same? Just didn't expect that in a haircut.
Labels: It's all about me
John put this out here at 9:05 AM
2 Comments:
woo hoo. So, do we take it where we can get it? Or do we feel guilty about it? I say enjoy, and move on.
But then again, I'm in a "enjoy and move on" phase in my life, so ...
I could talk about THIS stuff for hours!
Oh, it's definitely an "enjoy, and move on" thing. It was harmless and fun and...I guess what struck me was the unexpectedness and the setting. It was about the farthest thing from my mind when I walked in to get my hair cut, and when I walked out, I had this "what the hell just happened?" kind of feeling, but I was smiling all the same.
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