Fuss About Nothing
All of you will know my hair situation; thanks to some rather shoddy familial DNA and an abundance of testosterone it’s not holding onto my head as well as it could. Hence I keep it short myself, with a wireless trimmer in the shower, and the lovely Jo tidies up the edges so I don’t look too much like a homeless person.
However, it’s that time of year again, the arrival of the annual barbers visit, when Jo decides she’s had enough and I am forced to get a “proper haircut”. So off I trod this afternoon to the mall, like a disgruntled five-year-old whinging, that I didn’t want to go.
On the second floor of our local mall I narrowly avoided the temptations of “Spike & Curly”. It seems that as I’m over the age of twelve I’m not allowed to sit in the little chairs and play on Xbox as I have my hair cut. They’re missing a big segment of the overgrown boy market.
So in I trod to the grown-ups barbers where a woman in a fitted suit ushered me through to the cutting area whilst looking baffled at my already very short haircut. She was polite enough to offer me a shampoo as well as the haircut, but let’s be honest no man is truly comfortable having his hair washed by a strange woman.
I was wrapped in about three layers of T-shirt protecting shrouds and handed off to a girl who was dressed the same as the lady who’d welcomed me. It she had been able to speak any English I might not have noticed the subtle switch of personnel.
Once the razor had begun to whirr incessantly, I was able to block out the instrumental of ‘My Heart Will Go On’ enough such that I could inspect my surroundings. There was a Japanese chap having his thick hair massaged by another identically clad female and a rather bemused small boy, overlooked by his father, clearly wishing like me that he too was holding an Xbox controller.
The razor trimming involved several full laps of my head and then out came the scissors, thus another lap where she seemed to cut every hair individually. I didn’t dare move as she was, by this point, now wielding another even larger, and from what I could tell, rather weighty pair of shears near my right ear.
We’re about 45 minutes in at this stage, and I began to wonder why I wasn’t offered the hair growth tonic sat on the shelf directly in front of me, clear the aforementioned Japanese chap had been using it as his hairdresser was now biceps deep in shampoo – and at risk of being swallowed entirely.
Then a couple of levels of swaddling are removed and the cut-throat razor appears, nerves jangle. She’d clearly never heard of letting the foam soften the hairs a bit before applying the blade. They now have large finger-shaped indentations in the armrests.
After a hot towel was applied to all surfaces of my head the final curiousness came in the form of an in-chair massage. It has to be said that a barber’s chair is not the ideal support for a substantial neck rub and spinal attack but attempt it she did and as I rolled forward I considered the etiquette.
Should I close my eyes? Open them? Tell her that my neck was still a little sore from her scraping? Point out that arm pinching wasn’t necessarily part of a typical masseurs armory or relaxation? Point out I’d already been here an hour for something that would have taken five minutes at home? I wasn’t prepared for this social situation at Expat finishing school.
So:
- An hour, to do a slightly shabby job of cutting my hair (such as it is)
- No lolly, despite being a good boy
- Still cheaper than the dodgy barber in Balham with the worn copies of FHM.
Andy 5 August 2007
Messages
Commenting is closed for this article.
I would just like everyone to know that the ‘rather shoddy familial DNA’ did not come from me!
Debbie Croll # Aug 6
Hi guys. Stumbled upon your blog by accident whilst doing everything possible to avoid work today (I believe it’s called assimilating to Singaporean work ethics). I’ve had a great laugh. Seems we’ve been in Singapore about the same length of time. Most of our time has been spent dealing with Singaporean red tape, however. Not quite as much fun as champagne brunches.
Jette in Singapore # Aug 7
Which dodgy barber in Balham? how dare you speak ill of Sam’s?!
Harley # Aug 9
Which dodgy barber in Balham? how dare you speak ill of Sam’s?!
Harley # Aug 9