The Boston Diaries

The ongoing saga of a programmer who doesn't live in Boston, nor does he even like Boston, but yet named his weblog/journal “The Boston Diaries.”

Go figure.

Saturday, March 09, 2013

Shave and a haircut, definitely not two bits

Bunny decided it was time for me to get a haircut. Normally, she does the cutting, but after the last haircut I received at a real barber shop (in Brevard—real barber pole, barbers, wood panelling, the works) she felt that the professionals did a much better job at it then she.

[Just your typical small town barber shop in Brevard] [But sadly, the barber shop quartet was at the Brevard Music Center performing the day I got my hair cut.]

But we live in Boca Raton, not quite your Small Town, USA™ so we had to make do with something a bit more upscale, The Man Cave. At the appointed time, I walked into the Man Cave.

“Welcome, Sean,” said the hostess.

“Um … how did you–”

“You're here for your four o'clock appointment,” she said. “Would you care for wine? Or perhaps an imported beer from the Continent?”

“Oh. Um. No, I'm fine.”

“Very well. Chel will take care of you,” she said. “Chel! You're four o'clock is here.” She pointed over to the chairs, nestled among oversized high-contrast portraits of James Dean and Marlon Brando. “This way,” she said.

“Hello,” said Chel, walking over to lead me to her chair. “Please, take a seat. Short, over the ears, close cropped shave.”

“How did—”

“Shh, just sit back and relax,” she said, tying a paper collar about my neck and adjusting the snap-on tarp. “Glasses,” she said.

“Oh, yes,” I said. I took off my glasses, and she placed them gently on the nearby counter. She then started clipping my hair. It was the typical motions—snip here, snip there, reposition my head, more snipping, use the electric razer here and there and before long, she had apparently finished with cutting my hair.

She then lowered the back of the chair so I was nearly lying horizontally. “Please, relax,” Chel said, as she lowered a folded, steaming hot towel across the lower half of my face, then raised the folded part to cover my entire face. Oddly enough, even though I could see the steam rising off of it (even without my glasses) it wasn't scalding. In fact, it felt nice. It was wisked off, then she massaged my face, then another towel, then various gels and what not were rubbed into my face, then another hot towel, then more gels and finally, the shave with an honest-to-god straight razor. That was weird. I could feel it (felt like a sharp pencil against my skin) and hear it scrap the hair off my face.

And with that, I was done.

[Clean shaven]

It was not cheap. But it was a fun experience. And certainly a different experience from a small town barber shop.

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