A barbaric experience

The cloth tightened around my neck rendering me completely immobile. He ran his fingers through my hair and said, “You have thick hair.” From the corner of my eye I could see the glistening knife on the table. Then he asked the question. I knew my answer had no bearing on the outcome. I know my fate has been sealed. He repeated the question.

“Do you want your hair short or medium?”

Yes, I was at the barber. As you can see, going to the barber is not something I look forward to eagerly. I generally let my hair grow until I have almost the same hairstyling options as my wife. Last week after finally yielding to my wife’s helpful hints and the annoyance of hair failing in my eyes, I dragged myself to my favorite barber.

The advantage with my barber is that he doesn’t leave a hole in your pocket, but the disadvantage is he might, on your skin. On the day I decided to visit him, he was apparently out of town and entrusted his uncle, an old Vietnamese gentleman, with mowing the hairy heads that wander thither. I didn’t view it as a cause for concern at the time.

After he worked on my hair for half hour with a variety of instruments including three kinds of scissors, a knife and an 18-cerntury looking electric razor, I started growing concerned about the state of my hair. He firmly assured me everything was alright and advised that I go right back to watching the TV. While I tried to engross myself in the game on the TV, which I couldn’t understand a bit of, he tried to make small talk by asking, “You are a fan of baseball, eh?” That jolted me to rapt attention, alarm bells ringing loud. Because it was football that was on the TV, not baseball. That is when I realized, that guy was practically blind! I tried to salvage my remaining hair by being his seeing eye, but without much avail.

Needless to say I emerged the barber shop looking like a poodle run over by a lawn-mower. That is the price you pay for not paying attention when a vintage Vietnamese guy is going at your hair like he never cut before.

Update:

Never has a photograph been so much in demand since The Sun printed Saddam Hussein in underpants. I wish I had a taken a picture as soon as I came out of the barber shop when the damage was most visible. After 10 days and some strategic readjustment, I have recuperated now. I promise to post a pic next time I am in a shape to provide quality entertainment.