All I Want Is A Haircut

Friends, I have a confession to make.
I get my hair cut at the Beauty Boutique.
This, from what I understand via clever marketing and advertising campaigns, is the LAST place for a REAL MAN to get his hair cut.
My experience at the Beauty Boutique is as follows: I walk in, Christine cuts my hair, I leave. However, it appears I am missing out on some vital components of a proper manly haircut.
The other day I ate at the Schlotzky's in Moore, which is located next to a SportClips. On the window of the SportClips was painted, "Home of the LEGENDARY steam towel."
I don't get a steam towel at Beauty Boutique, but I imagine that if I did, it would be only an ordinary steam towel, as opposed to the LEGENDARY steam towel offered at SportClips. Surely it's not just a regular towel with some warm water on it.
But a steam towel is small potatoes compared with what ManXscape offers. I drove by a billboard for them the other day, and it read, "Home of the Haircut and free beer."
Is this a bar that offers free haircuts or a barber shop that offers a free bar? Either way, it sounds like the best place in the world. I know that when I go to a bar to drink, I am consumed by the thought that my experience would be better if there were a strong smell of formaldehyde and hair product. And it would be even better if there were a 97 percent chance some freshly clipped hair would find its way into my beer.
And surely nothing could ever go wrong if I'm drinking a beer while my hair is getting cut. No way I could tip my bottle back for that last swig of hairy Natural Light and end up with my own blood all over my face.
I sure hope I can hang out and have another brewski while my headski is getting stitchedski. I mean, who likes to drink ONE beer? The ad makes it sound like I only get one free beer with my haircut, but surely I can belly up to the L'Oreal counter and have a few more while I ponder what to do with the newly-created bald spot in the middle of my head. Maybe, over shots of Jeagermeister and Axe Messy Look Paste, the hairtender and I will have a good laugh about how everyone will be having a good laugh looking at my head the rest of my life.

I'm sorry if I sound cynical. I haven't always had the best luck with haircuts.
Lawton was a dreamland for a decent, cheap haircut. Because of Fort Sill, there was a massive supply of guys who needed regular haircuts. Thus, there were about 10,000 barber shops in Lawton, and the ones near the Army post would only charge $5. You weren't going to get a fancy cut, but I didn't need a fancy cut. I like to be in and out in 15 minutes with minimal damage to my wallet, so Lawton was perfect.
I was still living in Lawton when I got married to Missy, but our wedding was in Oklahoma City. When I got to the rehearsal, she said I needed to get my hair trimmed up. Nothing drastic, just a little spruce-up.
I hadn't had my hair cut in OKC in about eight years, so I wasn't really sure where to go. There was an old-school barber shop near my mom's house where I grew up, and I had gone in there occasionally.
I decided to see if it was still up and running the morning of my wedding. Sure enough, the same two old codgers were in there BSing about golf. Seemed perfect to me.
The old barber who owned the place recognized me and asked what brought me in. I told him I needed only a slight spruce-up for my wedding and he was more than happy to help. Turns out, the old man's skills and mouth filter had slipped quite a bit over the course of eight years. First, he told me that the problem with basketball was that African Americans were not smart enough to make sound decisions on the court. He pretty much said everything backwards and offensive you could ever say about African Americans without using the "N" word.
He then proceeded to screw up my hair. Somehow, I ended up with almost a full inch of bare skin above both of my ears, which is forever memorialized in our wedding pictures. You know how brides are supposed to be bubbling with excitement upon seeing their groom for the first time on their wedding day? As I ran across the room to embrace Missy, she stopped me and asked what the heck happened to my hair.
Missy and I lived in Lawton together for two years before moving back up here. When we got back, I didn't know where to get my hair cut. I just knew one place where I definitely would NOT get it cut.

There's a Super Cuts within walking distance from our house. I figured they were convenient and couldn't be that bad. I was wrong.
Somehow I got the craziest son of a gun on the earth to cut my hair there.
The guy seemed friendly enough, and we made a little small talk before he asked me if I knew anything about the town of Paradise, California. "Do you know anything about this province?" he asked.
"Nope, never heard of it."
"My brother is in jail for attempted murder there..." And we're off.
He tells this long-winded story about how his brother got framed for attempted murder because someone else used his guns to try to try to kill someone. But they didn't die, and his brother had nothing to do with it, and now he's in jail for 20+ years because of that three strikes law in California. Yes, his brother used to be a drug dealer and that's how he got the other two convictions but he doesn't do that any more. I'm offering nothing more than "Mmmm hmmm" and "Oh wow."
Our discussion is interrupted when a woman returns to the shop from her dinner break and is ready to resume cutting hair. He yells at her for leaving him alone in the shop. It was supposed to be his dinner break. Nancy had told him so, and if she thought Nancy wasn't going to hear about this, she was dead wrong. He was sick and tired of covering for her sorry behind all the time, and he wasn't going to take it any more. He informed her that he was leaving an hour before his scheduled shift ended and she had darn well better accept that fact.
Now, back to business.  We resume our conversation.
Him: "Do you know the judge in Paradise, California?"
Me: "No."
Him: "You don't know his name?"
Me: "No."
Him: "Do you know anything else about this province?"
Me: "No."
Him: "Do you know how long it would take me to drive out there?"
Me: "No."
Him: "Do you know how much it would cost to take a bus out there? I can't afford to fly. This place doesn't pay anything."
Me: "No."
Him: "Well, I'm going to go out there and talk to the judge. And I'm going to bring my gun. I'm from Texas and I think he needs to know how we operate down there. You know what I mean?"
Me: "You did a really great job on this haircut. It's exactly how I wanted it to look. How much do I owe you?"
Him: "You know what? Nobody tips their barber these days. It's ridiculous. They tip those stupid carhops at Sonic for bringing them an iced tea but nobody got a dime to give their barber."
I tipped him $5 for the second-worst haircut I've ever had and got the heck out of there.

I just wore hats for a couple months after that, and when that got too annoying I went into a random hair place in Moore. One of the ladies was free and gave me a good hair cut. She wasn't crazy or racist. She did a good mohawk when I went that direction. I've stuck with Christine since then.
It was convenient when she quit her old store for a new one closer to my house. I'm not thrilled that her new place is called Beauty Boutique, but I won't be trading her in for a LEGENDARY steam towel or a free beer anytime soon.