Finding Hannah reminds me of something that happened back in St. Olaf. We had one barber, Lars…read moreFlügelhoffer, and he was also the town's herring inspector. You always knew which job he'd come from by the smell of the cape. One day Lars up and quit, out of the blue, to follow his dream of competitive butter sculpting. The whole town was beside itself. Men wandered Main Street with hair down to their suspenders. My cousin Gunther tried cutting his own, and they had to cancel the Founder's Day photo.
My friends tell me to get to the point, so: Southlake, 2026. My stylist had quit out of the blue, just like Lars, though as far as I know no butter was involved. The long-time stylist before that... well, back in St. Olaf we'd say the herring had left the barrel, and we'll leave it there. Lesson learned.
So there I was, desperate, at a location I'd never visited, and I didn't know a soul. I booked online and picked a name at random from the list: Hannah. In St. Olaf, that's how we picked the mayor, and it only went badly twice.
The receptionist greeted me like an old friend, and out came Hannah with a big smile. The haircut was perfect. The service was what really won me over, though: the jokes, the banter, the laughing back and forth. It felt like we'd known each other for years, and I'd only just sat down.
The second visit was just as good. The cut was perfect again, and it was done so fast I was almost suspicious. Hannah noticed, and kindly offered to keep the clippers running and pretend to cut my hair, if that would make it feel longer. Zoom zoom, back and forth, buzzing away at the back of my neck and cutting absolutely nothing. I haven't laughed that hard since the Great Herring Juggling Incident of '52.
Back in St. Olaf we'd call her a gerfloofenhaarschnipper, which loosely means "one who makes your head look good and your cheeks hurt from laughing."
Book with Hannah. You won't regret it.
