I’m not like most guys; I like really long hair and usually wear my hair just over my shoulders.  I wear Italian suits to work and tend to wear dark colors to better show off my blond, wavy hair.  My hair is thick and is kept combed from my forehead.  Women love my hair but a lot of guys have yelled, “get a haircut cutie”.  I just look at guys with flattops and smile, I sort of feel sorry for them.  Don’t get me wrong, I love the controversy and I love my look.

              Since I travel almost full time for my job I am frequently spending nights in luxury hotels and entertaining clients at five star restaurants.  My friends all think I have a great job but it really is a hassle to make due on the road for such long stretches of time.  I have to spend a lot of time in hotel gyms to prevent gaining weight from all of the rich food.  I admit, it’s not always easy but I really work on it and have been able to maintain my 29-inch waist and 40-inch chest.  My co-workers call me Fabio, which is okay by me since I rarely see them.  Okay, so Fabio is a hero.

              All of this travelling leaves me sending my clothes to valets that I have never met.  I have had a lot of problems at some hotels and have sought out dry cleaners near my favorite hotels to ensure that my $3000 suits remain intact.  I also know neighborhood markets and hair salons in most of the big cities I go to.

              Last time I was in New York, I was staying at the Peninsula Hotel and was walking around New York enjoying the sights and sounds of America’s biggest city.  No other city is like New York. 

  I caught a glimpse of myself in the window of Saks Fifth Avenue and realized that my hair had creeped over my shoulder blades.  This was too long even for me so I knew I had to make a trip to the Village for a little shortening.

I had gotten my hair trimmed at this shop several times before and loved the environment and the people who worked there.  It was a ritual for me, I would get my hair shampooed, dried and then have the ends trimmed a little.

Looking into the shop, I saw an empty seat and quickly went inside where a good looking guy with a black tee shirt and black jeans and perfect blond flattop started to sit into the empty chair and then quickly got up.  He smiled and ushered me to his chair like he somehow knew me.  We obviously had never met but he introduced himself as Brad and quickly tossed a red and white-stripped cape over me and then pulled a paper strip around my neck.  I thought this was odd because that had never happened at this shop before.  It was more a salon really.  He brushed my hair for several minutes and I took a call on my cell phone as he proceeded.  As my call ended, he tilted me back and proceeded to shampoo my hair with warm, soapy water.  What a relaxing time this always was.  Same as always, I really liked the feel of a routine even when I was travelling. 

After the shampoo, Brad turned on the blow dryer and started the next step of the now ritualistic drying.  He must have been blow drying my hair for a good 45 minutes before he finally put down the dryer.  He then began brushing my hair again.  Just then, my phone rang again and it was clear that this was going to be a long call from Los Angeles.  I was at a disadvantage since I didn’t have the financial information everyone else on the call had but I pressed on intently trying to follow the conversation.  Brad continued, as did the call.  These type of calls always make me uncomfortable since I have to keep switching ears to keep my arm from going to sleep and focusing on information that is being described to me rather than looking at in front of me.  This also helped Brad as he worked on my hair.

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About 20 minutes into the haircut I noticed at least a foot long piece of blond hair stuck to Brad’s tight stomach but I didn’t really pay much attention and didn’t think anything else about it.  I kept talking.  I noticed Brad was now working on the top of my head with a comb and scissors so I jokingly said, “just a little off the top” and then smiled.  I heard Brad chuckle and say, “yeah, right man”.  The haircut continued and the call got more intense.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw a sign on the wall that read, “Brad Grayson, The Flattop King of Manhattan - Flattops Only 9 am to 6:00 pm”.      I commented to Brad, “Great sign”.  I wondered why his hair was cut so short, I didn’t realize that he was the “king”, I thought that was reserved for Elvis.  He must really love my long hair and I started to feel sorry for his unfortunate haircut.  With that I felt the clippers going straight down the middle of my scalp.  I dropped the phone and jumped out of the chair and felt the stubble on the top of my head.  I ran to the mirror where I saw the first glimpse of what had happened.  I was standing there with skin-tight whitewalls and a landing strip the width of clippers.  What the hell had happened?

The rest of the hair on the top of my head was about two inches long sticking up like patches of un-moved lawn.  During the course of my conversation he had almost finished the flattop and I had not even noticed until the clippers went down the middle.  “What the hell did you do that for man?”  “What do you mean, I only cut flattops and that’s what the sign says man.  What’s the big deal?  You made an appointment for a flattop and that’s what I gave you Jason”.  “Who the hell is Jason?  My name is Grant,” I shouted.  “Jason called this morning and said he wanted to get his long hair cut into a short flattop so they gave him to me at 3:00 pm, I assumed you were Jason since you had such long hair and were here right at 3:00 pm”.

I looked down and saw my cell phone buried in the glorious remains of my long blond curls covering the floor.  I smiled at Brad and sat calmly back into the chair.  “Let’s finish it off,” I said with a smile.  Brad picked up the clippers and widened the deck.  It was over.  He turned me back to the mirror and I took one last look as I rubbed it with both hands.  It actually felt great and really looked good.  We both started laughing.  “Accidents happen, “ I said.  “Don’t worry Grant, it’ll grow back in a couple of years.”  “No it won’t, “ I said as I put my navy suit jacket back on, winked and walked back to the hotel.