I thought I was getting such a good deal on my salon visits. A shampoo, a good cut, some pleasant conversation. They have good music playing, and everyone’s friendly. Most importantly, the price is low enough not to seriously offend a sense of haircut-related frugality instilled through years in childhood spent getting bargain cuts in wood-paneled barbershops where grizzled Vietnam vets with fewer than 10 fingers cut hair with brisk efficiency while Hank Williams Sr. crackled on the AM radio. But now I think I’m missing out. I mean, who knew I could be getting a haircut with a side of sexual harassment, and all for a mysterious sliding scale?

Quote of the Week

In line at Java Green on 19th Street:

Blonde post-sorority professional talking about her hairdresser: “The only thing is like, when he’s doing it, he likes to say really, really dirty stuff. Like ‘I just wanna take you upstairs and bend you over’ and stuff like that. It’s kinda weird. And then when you go to pay, it’s always a different price that he just writes down on a little piece of paper.”

After the jump, the Connecticut Avenue Mafia, the newest skater accessory, and diplomatic relations with Northern Virginia.

If eavesdropping is a sin, we’re your confessional. All is forgiven at overheardindc (at) gmail (dot) com.

Photo by Flickr user willpwillp.