Trust or Desperation?

Haircuts have been one of the challenges of this year. The first time I needed a haircut I went to the barber in the trading center. It was not a good experience.

The second time I cut my hair myself--at least everything I could see--and had Bry'Chell trim the back. However, Bry'Chell refused to actually cut the back--she would just trim the bottom.

Once again I was getting desperate. Carmen--the owner of CJ Vogue in Oak Lawn, who usually cuts my hair--has really spoiled me. Ordinarily when I call him, he gets me in the same day, like within an hour after I call. I have not developed good planning habits when it comes to haircuts.

I've been planning on getting my hair cut when I go to Kampala, but the past two times I've had a my plate full for the Kampala trips. There just hasn't been time to work in a haircut.

Yesterday I was once again at the desperation stage. I've been pestering Bry'Chell about cutting the back--not just trimming the bottom edge. She refused.

My hair is really thick in the back and it was just getting to be too much. Every time I ride my bike the back of my head would be dripping with sweat. There was just too much hair back there. I needed more than a trim at the bottom.

Friday, Bry'Chell did not get home from school at a reasonable time. Now, it was not entirely her fault, but I was worried so I rode my bike down toward her school only to see the students walking toward me. OK, I figured they were dismissed late, not Bry'Chell's fault. However, the kids are streaming up the road and there's no sign of Bry'Chell. After about 15 minutes, she comes poking along at the end of the crowd with her buddy. I was not happy. I figured if they get out late, the least she can do is hustle her little butt home. She knows she has to be home by 6:15 PM. It was now after 7 PM. This is a time to hurry, not poke. As a consequence, I told her I would walk her home from school this week. Now I am aware, that this is the ultimate of uncoolness. I really don't care.

Saturday it occurred to me that these consequences give me a little bargaining room.

"If you cut the back of my hair, I'll let you walk home by yourself one day this week."

"OK."

That was easy.

Sunday I went in the bathroom to stand in front of the mirror and cut the front part of my hair. I cut it, and it looked OK--way better than the barber in the trading center. It felt a LOT better.

I have a small hand mirror that, together with the bathroom mirror, allows me a fairly good view of the back. I gave Bry'Chell my basic theory of cutting straight hair--based on years of watching Carmen--and turned her loose with the scissors and the comb.

The kid has a good eye for detail and is pretty coordinated, so I trusted her. If I wasn't completely sure about the trust angle, I was desperate.

Even with her ongoing commentary about how I have hair growing in strange places on the back of my neck, she did a good job. She even cleaned up some of the places where I had cut that she judged inadequate.

This is the best haircut I've had since I arrived. Carmen--move over--you may have some competition!