Along with a mattress softer than a carpeted floor and taking a shower without flip flops on, there’s nothing I look forward to then getting a haircut in an actual barbershop. Now, technically, there is a barbershop in the school building, but they’re only allowed to give a cut of one length all the way around. There’s no blending or fades. So, if you don’t wanna look like a goof, you gotta find someone inside the unit to cut your hair.
Once you do, the only place to get a cut is inside the bathroom, which is worse than it sounds. And the sounds are horrible. The buzz of beard trimmers isn’t loud enough to drown out the symphony of flushing toilets and what sounds like poorly-played trumpets. Today, when I was the middle of a cut, we were twice interrupted to let the two fattest guys in the unit squeeze behind us to get into the stalls. My barber and I jus exchanged looks like, oh, it’s going down. In situations like these, I’m not prejudiced, but postjudiced–I’ve seen enough to know these fat asses were about to light this motherfucker up. We finished my haircut gagging from the smell of shit amid a chorus of toilets.
Easy Trouble 