Trouble w/Haircuts

I'm not sure what it is about me, but I am incapable of getting a normal stylist when I get my haircut. Ever since my Awesome arcading Woman of the Deadly Scissors left Dallas 3 years ago, I've been going to different people at different places all over the city in search of the perfect stylist. At this point, I'm now just looking for someone who can be described as 'possibly competent'.

To illustrate, let us consider the last 4 haircuts I've received, in the last 5 months.

1. I head home for a weekend, decide to try out the Marshall, Texas cosmotology scene via Down Home Hair Fashions or some other, equally bucolic sounding salon type place. I am seated immediately by one of the largest women I have ever encountered in my life. She proceeds to begin to cut my hair without slowing her conversation with the woman across the salon. Their conversation? Practicing their lines for a play they're in. The play? Salome. In Marshall. Texas. Dear God. Ignoring first the butchering these women are doing to a great play with line readings that could kill small birds, I spend the rest of a half hour in pure terror, as every time the hairdresser can't think of the right word, she pauses her clipping mid-stroke and waves the scissors/clippers/razor about my head in a frustrated manner. I escaped with only 2 bandages and a renewed appreciation for Oscar Wilde.
2. Back in Dallas this time, I go to a local chain of salons, thinking institutionalize might serve me well. I'm actually doing okay until the third time she puts the clippers to the back of my neck and pauses halfway up my head. She shrieks "I love this song!" swings the clippers from my head to her mouth and, miming a microphone, proceeds to complete the entire song playing on the radio, with dance moves natch, while occasionally taking swipes at my head. I came out of this learning nothing except Jessica Simpson's irresistible is a very dangerous song.
3. In a big hurry before my latest job interview, I head over to the same place as last time, vowing to not get the same chantries as last time. Instead, I get a woman who has a graduate level degree in Computer Science and knows more about programming than I ever will. She's incredibly interesting to talk to. Meanwhile, she cut's my hair using her '4 quadrants method' which is so complicated that the explanation is akin to a geometry lesson and leaves me looking like I did it myself in a dark closet with a steak knife. Lesson: never let a Computer Scientist cut your hair.
4. Today, I find a new place, and a new woman. She is soooo cute and friendly. I am tentatively hopeful, until 2 minutes into the haircut when she asks me, quite innocently, "Have you ever had a Red Bull?" This sends a few warning signals to my brain, but I soldier on, "Uhh, no." "Well I just drank my first one, 'cause I was sleepy. Now I'm not sleepy, but I can't stop shaking," she says as razors off the hair around my ear. Oh that's comforting is all that is running through my head. Because now that she's said something, oh my God you can totally see her arm shaking in the mirror! Dude! Lesson this time? Hell if I know, I guess it's "always ask your hairdresser if they're shaking uncontrollably before submitting to their ministrations."

I think sometime in a past life I didn't tip someone who cut my hair, or I killed a hairdresser over a bad perm or something, and now they're haunting me from beyond the grave.

That, or I overreact to everything and these people are perfectly good at their jobs.

Yeah, right, I'm totally cursed.