I go to the Aveda institute in Northeast Minneapolis (because of its Polish roots it's commonly referred to as "Nordeast") because I like the idea of students learning on my head. Also, most of the students there are cute. However, the last few times there I got my hair cut by a guy named Clancy. I don't think we're true friends, but the three times he's cut me we've talked. Interesting history -- plays guitar, wants to get back to it, doing this as a fallback job, lives with his mom -- and he seems like a good guy.
But the students are only in the program for about nine months, and Clancy graduates next month, I think. Also, for the past week my hair seems to have erupted out of my head to the point where it became annoying to hold my head up. Plus, I'm going to Robinsonville, Miss. this week to gamble, and I don't want this untrimmed fop on the top of my head. So I decided to go to Horveda (Aveda used to be called the Horst Institute or something before they merged, and I still get them confused, so I just combine the two names) on Saturday afternoon and get this chopped off so I can hold my head up, let alone high, when I go to Mississippi.
I go up to the check-in desk ... and hey, there's Clancy! I point at him, he points at me. Very bromantic, I must say.
"I'd like to get my hair cut by that guy," I tell the receptionist as I point to him again.
"He can't. He's running tickets." After a customer checks in, the receptionist writes down the information, and the ticket runner goes all around the two floors of the building to find a student to do that person's hair. Just my damn luck, today it was Clancy.
So for a few minutes I faced a choice: Get my hair cut without Clancy, meaning that I will never get my hair cut from him again because I know I won't be back in a months' time, or just cancel and get my hair cut from him, say, next week. As usual, when faced with a choice I get all anxious to the point where I touch myself in order to feel better. I mentally talk to myself about all the drawbacks with each option: "If I stay, I won't see Clancy again ... but if I leave, I'll have to deal with my hair when I should be enjoying myself ... I have to carve out another weekend just to do this ... and it's not like I can reserve a stylist here; you get who you get, and you may not get Clancy next week either ... but Clancy's my bro, man, I owe it to him!"
You get the idea. What I realized in my internal eternal debate with myself is that this choice pits two of my principles: my desire to be loyal versus my annoyance over changing my plans. In the end, I did the selfish thing and stayed to get my hair cut from another girl (who was a low-talker, BTW). I didn't have anything to do for a few hours, so where would I go? My hair really was bothering me. And I was right; what if I don't get Clancy next week?
So I sat for half an hour. This one time he was running back to the receptionists' desk to get another ticket. Our eyes locked. We exchanged shrugs.
After I was done I thought about trying to find him one more time, just to say goodbye. Went upstairs, couldn't find him.
Sorry, bro.
Goodbye.
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