My Four-Hundred Dollar Haircut

Keeping my water glass full will warrant more than a twenty percent tip. Cutting me off at a singular glass, while not provoking me to leave nothing, will certainly affect the girth of your food service wallet. I've always wanted to be a waiter. The lady's sister thinks I'd be good at it because I'm chatty. Engaging in conversations with strangers is easy, I go out for gossip riddled dinners with girlfriends regularly, and look forward to chatting with my hairdresser Sarah.

Years ago, I had my locks lifted at Marshal Field's hair salon by a girl named Vita. Vita is a fortyish, stick thin, Italian girl with impeccable morals, and questionable taste in men. Not wanting to leave me high and dry after she quit, she offered to trim my doo out of her home. Washing my hair in the laundry room utility sink was tolerable. Sitting in a dank, decaying basement in front of a television that always seemed to have Soul Train on was tolerable. Being joined by her father or sister, who also lived there, taking calls while working on me, and having random visitors stop by and conversing with her while she was tending to my mop was tolerable. When she started forgetting how to cut my hair...

I have my grandfather's hair. A thick wavy, cowlicky mop that's hard to tame. Beyond sharing hair attributes, all the Dietz men share a similar helmet like cut. Considering my potential follicle fate, I make every effort to avoid it. Changing hair dressers is tough. The quest to secure a replacement is never a straight path. Thinking I might have been paying too much for my haircuts, I went to a five dollar Quick Cuts and was provided with a horrible mess that made me look like I was five, so I called Heidi's in the mall.

I had been to Heidi's before, seeing a punk skateboarding kid named Charlie. While I enjoyed his company and cut, his prices had originally sent me to Vita. The manager told me Charlie had moved on but that he could squeeze me in that same night. I don't recall his name, but I do remember his Cavaricci pants and the helmet cut I received that day.

Wandering aimlessly around the mall I stumbled upon Regis Hair Salon where I randomly selected Sarah as my new mop muse. Sarah is a cute, bubbly sort, who is guarded and sassy without losing site of her manners. She worked quick, cut hair well, and I got out the door for a reasonable price. It had taken four months to find a suitable replacement for pre-laundry basin Vita, but the wait was worth it; Six years later Sarah is still tending to my mop. In fact, Sarah is such a good cut that I found myself reconsidering how I tip.

Gratuity should not be a standard, set percentage for every service. Everyone knows what to tip at a restaurant, but what should you tip for take-out, valet, buffet, or hair cuts? After careful consideration I've come up with my own tipping scale:

Valet and bag handling: Two or three dollars
Take-out: Five to ten percent (on a semi regular basis and only if it's a place I frequent)
Buffet: Ten percent
Wait staff: Ten to twenty percent
Hair stylists: Thirty percent

Sarah spends nearly an hour on my hair, talking with me the whole time and deserves more than a server. Since my haircuts with Sarah are thirty dollars, she gets a ten dollar tip, which means I surrender over four-hundred dollars to her every year. Maybe I should just shave my head from now on and put that four-hundred toward an iPhone.

If I move I'll have to find a new Sarah. This would also mean that I wouldn't have her capable hands cutting my hair for the big day. If you see me at the wedding with a shaggy, soppy doo, please be kind.