The wait was 137 minutes.
So, I decided to live with my mistake a little while longer.
Flashback to four days ago. All of the hair salons and barbershops were still closed.
I was digging around under the sink in my bathroom, and I came across a set of hair clippers.
I vaguely remember buying them. Ever since I started losing my hair, sometime in college, my haircuts have not been complicated. So, I probably thought I’d save some money and do it myself. Like most things I buy, I bought them, put them in a drawer, and continued seeing a barber.
This clipper had been waiting 15 years for this moment. It was its time to shine.
I called out to my wife, and she knew. She knew I was about to do something stupid, and she didn’t want any part of it. Her main concern was that she’d mess up my hair.
I told her, first of all, there’s not a lot to mess up. Second of all, even if you do, we’ll just cut it shorter.
Nevertheless, despite my pleas, she was resolute.
So, I did what any strong, independent, 36-year-old would do. I went to see momma.
I show up at my parents’ house, clippers in hand, and knock on the door.
It takes my dad a solid 15 minutes to open the door. He’s installed little metal plates behind each door that is supposed to prevent someone from kicking it in.
Why? I don’t know, but when he does finally disable all of the security measures – picture a medieval castle opening its main gate and lowering a drawbridge across the moat – he quips some joke about it being a quarantine and that I should go away.
I know it’s a joke because up until the week before, nobody was allowed in the house, and at one point during the quarantine, he did in fact tell me to go away. That time he hadn’t unbarred the door.
So, I walked through the front door and proceeded to go through the same process of breaching a castle to go out the backdoor and onto the deck.
I got everything set up and started cutting my hair.
I started with a longer guard than usual. I figured there would be a learning curve, but things were going so smoothly. I kicked myself for not doing this sooner.
I had the front and sides done, and now it was time for the back.
This is where momma comes in. It’s hard to cut the hair on the backside of your head.
So, she takes the clippers and starts cutting.
Again, things are going great. Then the clippers stopped cutting. Three-fourths of the way done, and the clippers die.
No big deal. I’ll get some new ones from the store.
There is not a store in Huntsville that has hair clippers in stock.
OK, that wasn’t great, but I’ll Amazon Prime them, and they’ll be here in a couple of days.
Amazon won’t have any hair clippers in stock until later this month.
The good news is between the baldness and using a long guard if I don’t show you where the clippers stopped, it’s tough to tell – especially if I just keep turning my head, so you never see the spot where they stopped working side-by-side with the last place they worked.
I’ve waited about a week with this haircut, so I think I’m going to give it a little time for the rush of people to pass at the hair salons and barbershops. Maybe when the wait drops to under an hour. Then I’ll sit in my car and wait, but at this point, there’s no rush.