Stares & Haircut

If there is one thing in life that makes my blood boil, it’s people staring. Now, if you know me, you know that I am a chronic starer. Not to justify my disease, but we’ve all been there and we all know how to stare properly. The rule is: if you get caught, abort. Duh. If the staree sees you staring, look away and pretend like you weren’t looking at them. Sooo elementary. This leads into my story…

I got my haircut today in Abilene for the first time. I didn’t know where to go so I polled some of my friends to get a good idea of salons. I ended up at one on S. 27th with a random stylist. While I was waiting to be called back, I overheard this woman next to me telling her 12-ish little girl whose legs (of the girl’s friends) were skinny and whose were not. No lie. She then proceeded to say, “Your legs aren’t skinny, honey” and proceeded to have the girl stand up to see if her thighs touched in the middle (you know this drill – fat girls thighs rub, skinny girl’s don’t…or so you think). I finally get called back for my haircut and I see my new hairdresser for the first time. The stylist had impeccably shaped eyebrows, killer make-up, and long fake nails. His name was Airick.

I’m trying to grasp the fact that a grown man went to a nail salon and puts make-up on better than most people I know. I make small talk and joke around, mainly to ease my own discomfort. After the shampoo, I sit back in the chair and see Mom-of-the-year waiting in a chair close to me while her daughter gets her hair cut. I’m making small-talk with Airick but every time I look over in this lady’s direction, she is straight up staring. Even when I make eye contact with her, she does not abort but in fact keeps staring. I’m getting agitated at this point because I can see her in my peripheral just eyeballing the crap out of me. After an eternity, her daughter is done so she gets up and leaves.

I turn to Airick after that and say, “That lady would NOT stop staring at me. Seriously…I almost just got in a fight right here in your salon.” He laughed for a minute and then said, “yea, well imagine being me. People stare all the time and it gets really old.” My first instinct was to say, “Maybe because you have tips” but instead I said, “They’re probably just jealous that you have better nails than them.” We laughed about that, he finished my haircut, and I left.

It made me sad later though. I got to thinking about how my stylist ended up being a really nice guy. Weird, absolutely. But nice. I wonder how many people I stare at or avoid talking to because they look weird.. How many people miss out on an opportunity to befriend Airick because he wears make up and gets his nails done, and how many people do I miss being friends with because I pass judgment? Our generation is going to come in contact with more and more “interesting” people. I think I learned a lesson today in how to reach them. Wanna learn? Treat them normal. God loves french manicured Airick just as much as he loves me on my high horse.