Mr. Travon the Hairstylist

Every now and then, I meet a person in my daily adventures who seems to be channeling Mr. Travon from Salt the Holly (he was, after all, based on a real person). I tend to take a more light-hearted tone in the comic though, as making him as realistic as he could be would be horrifying. In any case, this weekend, a Mr. Travon protege cut my hair.

Omitting the gritty details about getting sprayed in the face with water and a completely horrible haircut in general and the part where he ignored me most of the time to talk about stillbirths with someone else's customer, we'll skip to the icky bits.

Typically, when a person is cutting your hair, the chair is positioned so that your head is about chest level with the stylist, right? So they don't have to hold their arms in an awkward position and such. Well, this guy puts the chair on the lowest setting so that my knees are really close to my chest and my face is just above groin-level to him. Then... he rests his junk on my shoulder and presses his stomach against my cheek. Oh my goodness.

I asked him not to stand so close to me, and he looked really irritated and said, "Why?"

"Uh, because your junk is on my shoulder, and it makes me uncomfortable."

He looks down, observes his junk very obviously on my person, and replies, "No, it isn't."

At that point, I stood up, moved to a different chair, and asked another stylist to fix the mess he'd made of my hair. (I imagine it's difficult to properly cut the hair of someone whose face is shoved in your abdomen.)