The Threading House

About this location

A few stories people tell about this place

1. One morning, while a delivery driver was unloading boxes in front of The Threading House, he stopped mid-step and stared at the ground. Something small and metallic caught his eye—a tiny silver bell that tinkled softly whenever someone walked past. As he bent down to pick it up, another customer emerged from the salon, startling him with her stylish bob cut. She apologized for almost stepping on the little bell, smiling warmly. From then on, everyone who visited noticed the quirky charm—and The Threading House became known not just for great haircuts but also for its charming little secret.

2. In the quiet neighborhood near The Threading House, a delivery driver noticed something peculiar one afternoon. As he unloaded supplies from his truck, he spied an old, dusty comb sticking out from under the wheel well. Curious, he picked it up and found an old photo attached with a note reading: ‘To my dear stylist, thank you for making me look my best.’ Turns out, it belonged to a regular customer who always left her belongings in the most unusual places. The delivery driver chuckled as he imagined her frantic search for the comb.

3. In the cozy streets of Portland, Oregon, a little girl named Emma often skipped past The Threading House on her way home from school. One afternoon, as she ran by, she stopped abruptly and pointed up at the window. ‘Mama,’ she whispered, ‘why is that lady’s hair growing so fast?’ Inside, a regular customer laughed, scratching his head in confusion. 'I must be going bald,' he joked. The owner smiled knowingly, replying, 'No, sir, you’re just getting some serious thread work today!'

4. Early one foggy morning, a delivery driver pulled up outside The Threading House and found himself staring at an unfamiliar van. As he unlocked the back doors, he heard whispers coming from inside. Curious, he peered inside—and saw nothing but empty seats and a few stray threads floating in the air. ‘What on earth…?’ he muttered, just as his colleague appeared around the corner. ‘Did you get those new chairs I ordered?’ she asked, pointing towards the van. The delivery driver shook his head, shrugged, and replied, ‘No chairs here, boss.’ And that’s why to this day, no one knows what was delivered to The Threading House that foggy morning.’