He doesn't charge enough.
I swear, Lyle just spent three hours on my hair and only charged me thirty dollars. And it's not like he took three hours because he's slow, we did a ton of highlights and a color wash and then he set a really cool new line in my hair that he took a while to get perfectly even. If you start out with a good line then the next cuts go that much faster. Anyhow, the more I get to know him the more I like him as a person. Lots of hairstylists make incredibly dopey conversation with you about like visiting their moms or whatever, but he tells some great stories. Apparently he spent a lot of time on this California-Oregon-Washington annual migratory circuit of old hippies and drug addicts -- they travel to different hot springs all year long and live in trailers or tents. He met guys like Chili Bob, a Viet Nam vet who looked like a spindly wizard and drank a box of Franzia by lunch every day and a case of beer by nighttime. He met people like The Komodo who filmed bestiality videos and...I can't even write about the weird stuff The Komodo did, he'd probably find out and try to come kill me. It's kind of incredible the things Lyle's seen. And you don't feel uncomfortable when he's telling you that holding a pair of scissors so close to your head...he sounds as entertained by it all as you are. He does need some breath mints though, he's got that deep-down cigarette thing going on.
I can't wait to see what Beef thinks of my new look - although he probably won't even notice until I say something. Yesterday he was wearing this old Bart Simpson t-shirt with yellow pit stains and he wouldn't throw it away until I said that I was moving to Mexico if he didn't.