Short cuts, shortcuts

This is your opportunity. Make that step. Push that door open. Enter that promising future. Overcome your fears. Relax. And pay.
The place: Capristo Total Beauty Salon. Your mission: Get a haircut.

A premiere. You have never been to a hairdresser in the States before. At least not to one that took money from you. And that is long ago, when your hairstyle was as simplistic and short as a shoe brush. But now your hair is quite long. The last time it saw scissors was on some rainy day in July on the other side of the Atlantic.
You couldn’t get a valuable recommendation from your co-students where you should go: They either had not been to a hairdresser in Pittsburgh yet, paid horrific prices or went to ethno-specialized coiffeurs that don’t cater to Caucasian tufts like yours.

But luckily, you spotted a hairdresser from the bus. At least through rain-smeared windows it looked like a regular barber shop. Upon entering you realize that this is a women-dominated island of beauty, chatter and fake fingernails. In addition to offering haircuts, Capristo also encompasses a spa and a nail studio. It is early afternoon which is probably why the room is populated mainly by middle-aged women with perms, artificial sun-tan and golden bracelets.
Bewildered that you are the only male person in the room, you turn to the lady behind the counter. Yes, even you as a member of the beautification-adverse gender can get a hair cut here.

Breanne, the friendly and talkative hairdresser quickly disperses your uneasy feeling. Soon you find yourself in the middle of a conversation about Pittsburgh, Europe and learning foreign languages. Several years ago, Breanne travelled to the old continent, backpacking on her own. Her resolution: Finding a European and staying there, far away from snowy Michigan where she originated. But she returned empty-handed. Instead of settling down in Europe, she settled for someone from her hometown. At least, he dragged her to Pittsburgh, adding some urbanity and excitement.
Unfortunately, you get so lost in your chat that she cuts well beyond the one inch that you were wanting to give up. Professional as she is, she does not show any sign of error, commenting that she “just added some personal touch”.
Fortunately, hair grows back.

After the haircut, another premiere for you is on the agenda. A speed networking session. In the days of DSL internet and instant coffee why not accelerate the old game of meeting people? Equipped with a bunch of business cards, you switch conversation partners every couple minutes upon the signal of the organizer.
But before you can enjoy the benefits of networking and a free buffet, you have to muddle through the afternoon traffic. Once again, you get to feel the drawbacks of a GPS: Between the tall downtown buildings, receiving signals becomes hard for the little device upon which not your life but your punctuality relies. The inevitable happens: Instead of taking the right exit for the bridge over the Monongahela River, you end up on some congested highway leading you away from your destination. The navigation system tells you to turn around immediately. Very funny, you think, looking at the facts that keep you from doing that; the concrete barrier to your left and the lethargic traffic jam in front of you.

Fifteen minutes late, you and your classmates arrive at the event. The busy exchanging of business cards has already started and so you jump right into it. A weird choreography: Every five minutes a new small talk starts about who you and your counterpart are and what you do. But what did one of the speakers at Katz said during the first week: Like dating, business is about mutual deception. And so you smile and chat a bit tired. Finally, after almost two hours, the rescue. The organizer gives the signal to pillage the buffet. Together with your classmates, you enjoy the view of the downtown skyline and your food mixed with the bliss of having survived the official part of the week.