So yesterday I strolled over to my local barber shop to get my ears lowered. I have the type of haircut that I could do myself if I wanted to but I don’t want to. This might sound strange but I really enjoy getting my hair cut. I get a buzz cut and it’s like a little head massage every time. It’s a delight. Not to mention I can’t shape around my ears or trim up the back of neck so I consider it money well spent.
Anyway. I strolled over to the barber shop with the intent tot get a relaxing buzz cut, no big deal, right? Wrong. In case you’re not aware, NYC is currently hotter than the surface of the Sun (capital S, show some respect). Longstanding NYC heat records are being shattered every day. Large could fry up a steak on the streets of Manhattan this week. So when I sat down in the barber’s chair I wasn’t just sweating, I was SWEATING. I even purposely didn’t call ahead to make an appointment in hopes that I would have a cool down period while waiting my turn. Nope. They whisked me right to a chair and put the reverse Dracula cape on me. Normally that’d be a good thing but not when it’s the temperature of hell outside and I just walked three blocks.
So now I’m sitting there pouring sweat like Blake on The Bachelorette last night. Just buckets rolling off my forehead. The nice young lady cutting my hair pretended not to notice which I appreciated. It’s at this point where you’d think I’d start to cool off, relax a little bit and enjoy the haircut, right? Wrong again. The opposite happened. I felt so bad about how much I was sweating that I started to sweat even more. It’s like when Fat Bastard said, “I eat because I’m unhappy and I’m unhappy because I eat. It’s a vicious cycle.” I feel bad because I’m sweating and I’m sweating because I feel bad. The most vicious cycle is compounding sweat.
By the way, I didn’t verbalize any of this. I could’ve just been like, “Wow it’s a hot one out today huh” to let her know that I know that I’m drenched in sweat. Instead I stayed completely silent, internalized it all and that made me sweat even more. I was so in my own head about what was happening that I couldn’t muster a single word. She didn’t say anything about it the whole time either and I am forever in her debt for that.
Eventually the haircut mercifully ended, I hopped outta the now-dripping-wet chair like it was on fire, thanked the young lady, picked the highest percentage tip on the screen and got the fuck outta there. What a disaster.
PS- I don’t have a mohawk.