Of course I left the slip of paper with the place’s address and phone number on my desk at work, but I could swear it was 1603 Connecticut, so I headed that way. Passing about six hair salons and as many GLBT Book Stores, I found myself standing in front of 1601 and 1607 Connecticut like an idiot somehow thinking that if I looked upwards at the damn buildings 1603 would somehow appear. One of the stylists from the hair salon at 1607 came out for a smoke and I approached him and asked “Tell me, am I blind or stupid?” He looked confused for a second but picked up his cue right away and replied “you’re blind *and* stupid. What can I help you with?” After a short conversation about whether there was a 1603 nearby or if anyone named “Little John” worked there, I figured I’d just call Helen.
As it turns out, I was looking for 1633.
My haircut was satisfying in many ways. Aside from the standard pleasure that comes from the shampoo/scalp massage, the place was floor-to-ceiling with fantastic gay men who were speaking to each other in this variation on Spanglish. As I was getting my hair cut, they all started complaining about the classical guitar CD that had been in the player for the last three hours. I chimed in something along the lines of how there can be too much of a good thing, even if it is classical guitar, and one of the other hairdressers turns around to chuckle stops himself short, and says “chica, you have beautiful eyes. You want some wine?” so out comes a fresh glass for the wine that I now notice the stylists are all sipping on.
I bounced out of there with a spring in my step and a cutie new haircut. It’s shorter than I usually keep it, but I like it anyway. I commented to Little John that it looked very mod. He cocked his head, looked again and said “Yeah…it’s kind of a 60’s Vidal Sasoon cut…I was inspired by your eyeliner.”