All I need is a haircut

I am developing a bad case of hockey hair. There's a salon I usually go to a few doors down from here, but I don't want to make an appointment. It's a high-end salon (by One Great City! standards) and I usually get a good cut there, but really I go just because it's close. Most of the rest of it annoys me - the inane conversation, the token dog, the way the stylists replace the product bottles along the bottom of the mirrors with a spin so that the labels are always facing outward. There is also tipping weirdness. I hate the way posh places expect you to just know who to tip, when and how much, and it's this big to-do if you get it wrong.

Lb*'s B is into hockey. He used to keep a very detailed book in the bathroom which analysed each of the players in the NHL for their speed, skating ability, finesse and so on. The day I discovered it, I was in that bathroom for ages because it was totally engrossing, even for someone who is not a big hockey fan. I flipped through most of it, but kept going back to the picture of the year's top player. Something about it was very compelling - likely his bizarre hairdo. Still, I thought he was lovely. (What is wrong with me?) He has since cut his hair and, well, the intrigue is just gone for me. So, I carry the flame of his past look in my own hairstyle. Just a few more months avoiding that salon...