For the past year and a half or so, shaving has meant trimming my moderate offering of facial hair to a respectable length.  My dad purchased an electric rechargeable trimmer that, without any attachments, gives a nice close trim in a matter of minutes.  Once I started using it, I never went back to the old-fashioned razor and shaving cream.  I felt like I was doing my tender skin a favor, and a little stubble never hurt nobody.

In October of last year, I moved to the Castro.  On the first Monday morning in my new apartment, I went to give my face a trim.  Much to my dismay, I flipped the switch on the trimmer and nothing happened.  I flipped it again, gave it a shake, stuck it back in the charger and tried once more, but got no love.  The darn thing was broken, and I had no idea what to do.

I went to work that Monday, and for the next couple of days, as I tried to procure another trimmer, I allowed my stubble to grow into an unsightly, prickly mess.  I perused the Walgreens offerings but didn’t find what I was looking for.  I was told by an un-helpful Radio Shack employee that I “must be looking for razor shack”.  As the week neared its end and my facial hair continued to grow I finally settled on an interim solution: a $7 sideburn trimmer from Ross.

This little piece of shit is powered by two double-A batteries, and is not intended to do more than reset the edge of one’s sideburn.  It is by no means intended to trim the entirety of one’s scraggly beard, but that’s exactly what I did with it, in a painstaking, sometimes painful process that could last up to twenty-five minutes.  I had to move the thing in a maddening series of minuscule strokes, all the while listening to its pathetic little whine.  On must-shave mornings, I’d set my alarm an extra half-hour early.

This inefficient and frustrating routine persisted for nearly a year.  No matter how many times I dropped the damn thing it continued to work.  I replaced the batteries a half-dozen times, and in the back of my mind was always thinking about finding a proper trimmer, but at the end of the day little “Protocol” was still the only thing keeping me from looking like a complete bum.
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