9517. or was it 9715? no, 9157.
so i went! clint and i. clint has no hair and that is the beauty of going with him.
the waiting area: it's like a gym, complete with one of those gym lights that come on and then come on again... you know the type. there are sports team windsocks hanging from the ceiling and a selection of local sports teams stuff in two separate boutique areas. items such as liscense plate holders, pencils, featuring local teams like SMU, UT, the STARS, A&M etc... there are huge photographs of people cheering and waving their team's flag along with the big sponge-hand-thingie. an enormous HD-TV-something-or-other rests in the far right corner of the waiting area. incidentally, that's the 'love' area of the bagua according to feng shui. (more about the tv in a moment.) in the far left corner, the checkout-dugout is in the form of a batting cage complete with a chain link fence enclosure. the dominate color in the waiting area is blue with yellow and red accents. accents, you say? like what? like little signs everywhere that say things like, "point winning play system" (or something) then there's a diagram of some generic looking football plays and the haircutting experience is broken down for you, complete with a 'huddle' which i suppose is the equivalent of a consultation.
on tv: i think it might have been ESPN, but i can't be sure because i don't have cable. i watched and watched and watched and honestly, i have absolutely no earthly idea what the program i was watching was about. football was involved. so were these slow-mo moves of guys in uniform walking down into the stadium with dramatic music swelling behind every footstep, high fives, the coach with the clip board, a random-number-28-guy jumping into the air to catch a football with a beads of sweat spewing off him. the team colors might have been red and yellow, but i can't be sure. the same tire commercial with the token hot chick came on at every break, as did the wal-mart ad peddling game-boy football. at the very end of the show, the music climaxed and a voice said, "his leadership transcended football" and a still shot of a grey haired man appeared. i'm sure somebody, somewhere had goose pimples, but i just sat there feeling like an alien.
the 'cutting area': different floors. tile, this time, instead of a wooden gym floor. the lights have the little cages on them. the stylist stores her equipment in little gym lockers. clippers and clipper acroutrements abound. there is indeed an itsy-bitsy-smaller-than-a-25cents-for-ten-minutes-in-the-airport-tv for each and every patron getting a haircut. at the far end of the cutting area, there's an enormous sign that says "showers", where one gets a shampoo.
the stylists: surprisingly normal. they wear red and white jersey-esque tops with shorts and tennis shoes. clint's stylist was nice, although it did take her nearly an hour to cut off his almost non-existent hair. when the hair cut was over, instead of sweeping the hair off the floor, the stylist vacuumed it up with a vacuum cleaner that is built into the lockers. i was immediately intrigued. where's this hair going? so i excused myself and went to the restroom and lo and behold, a machine called 'suck-maid' or 'service-maid' or something like that was waiting for me. (either way, that's a pretty bad product name) a large container was at the bottom of several large tubes with a warning sign that said, 'do not open'. i wanted to, but i didn't because i was wearing a white shirt today.
the clientele: pretty normal 'guys'. khaki's, shorts, team shirts. some came in and seemed to know the drill. they'd sign in and nonchalantly pick up sports illustrated. some wandered in and had to be told to sign in. i periodically looked out the window to make sure no one i knew was out there. i was a tad embarrased, to be quite honest, and would have potentially been mortified if i'd been spotted.
in summary: someone put a lot of thought into this place. no detail was overlooked. everyone was courteous, including the other folks in the waiting area. the franchise seems to be geared toward little kids. that was the feel of the place. only grown men though, walked in the door and it seemed a little over the top and a rather decadent way to feel like a 'winner'. at the end of my friend clint's haircut, his stylist asked him to generate four numbers he'd remember. that way when he came back, she could replicate his haircut exactly.
