I grew up on a farm in Berks County, and my dad would buzz off my brother’s hair with sheep clippers in the summer. I would gladly take one of his haircuts over the one I got from this chop shop earlier this summer. The owner(who cut my hair) was so busy yapping and gossiping that she obviously didn’t hear a word I said when I told her how I wanted my hair cut. One side was at least a half inch longer than the other, and somehow I left there with bangs(even though I never asked for any). Then, without even asking me how I wanted it styled, she began blowdrying my hair into this God-awful poofy 1980s style. I ended up looking like my mom’s high school yearbook photo from 1985.