Month: July 2003

If I may be per­mit­ted to vent for a moment, I just received the worst treat­ment I’ve ever received from a barbershop–namely the The Hair­cut in the Stan­ford Shop­ping Cen­ter.

Once I sat in the bar­ber’s chair every­thing was out of my control–my hair was not cut as I asked, my head was man­han­dled as though I were a fid­gety three-year-old child, and at the end the pro­tec­tive drape was ripped off my body and an indus­tri­al-strength blow­dri­er was run over me to remove any loose hair.

They nev­er even asked me if I was hap­py with my hair­cut. I had to remain seat­ed and ask if I could look in a mir­ror to see the results!

I still have stray hairs prick­ling my skin as I type this.

Most dis­ap­point­ing…

I’m real­ly get­ting into off-the-wall proverbs.

Two of my favorites:

1) Buf­fa­lo can’t see its own butt. (I’m told it’s from Kenya)
2) Dogs bark at what they can’t under­stand. (Her­a­cli­tus)