Tuesday, May 19, 2015

Hair Cut 2 - Out Come the Scissors

            In case any of you were desperately wondering what’s happened to our hair since October 2014, I have a brief update.
           
            David, who I wrote about ending his hair appointment with a phone number offering, has not fared well. Two months ago, David arrived at work and sat down at his desk. My eyes caught his then slowly traveled upwards to his hair – or what remained of it.
            David had fallen prey to the ever present danger of the electric razor. No longer did he have fluffy curls. No. Now he was buzzed within an inch of his life. Only the barest remnants of his hair remained. It was shocking. Shocking.
            At the table next to us, one of our fellow co-workers could not contain himself and demanded to know: “Did you lose our bet or something?”
            Around noon a different co-worker entered the office, froze mid step and shouted: “What the f*ck!?”
            It was not a good day for David nor his hair. Upon further conversation, he informed me that he had been heading into extreme “Q-tip” territory and decided he would rather look like a recently convicted felon than a ear cleaning apparatus. The decision was his own, however fatal the results.

            I am happy to report that as it is now May, his hair has grown in the slightest bit and now rather than looking like he has recently knocked over the neighborhood mini mart, he looks like a casual dude, just enjoying life with short hair.
The impression of a convict was heightened due
to David's love of his transitional glasses.
That plus the severe hair cut really did not help things at all. 


            Tommy, who fell prey to the “Q-tip,” has since come to the discovery that in China, you are not going to a hair stylist, you are going to an normal person with scissors. That’s right. You are entrusting yourself to some average Joe off the street who somehow managed to get his hands on a pair of scissors and is now staring you down as he snips aggressively in your direction to show how well he knows how to use his weapon.
            This belief came to Tommy in a time of great crisis. Having decided to entrust himself to the local hair cutter, about a block from our apartment, and one he has previously gone too with only minorly traumatic results, Tommy chose his fate.

            This fate was possibly the most uneven hair cut of all time. In fact, it was so uneven that a small section of his bangs were not even cut. No, this one lone section was left to brave it out as the rest of the hairs got chopped in fashion similar to the cover of the Arctic Monkey’s AM. The results were horrific.
            Across his forehead stretched this wave of disgrace. However, with a forceful shove to the left and sprinkling of gel, Tommy was able to hide his shame and pass himself off as an individual whose hair had not been butchered.

            For my part, after months of refusing to get my hair cut and with summer steadily approaching, I finally broke down. I tried to hedge my bets by going to a salon with an actual brand name and English on their list of hair options. All for null.
            I received once more the complicated three layers of chopped hair that has befallen me before. This was after I showed extensive photographic evidence of the hair cut I wanted. During the cutting process, I was buoyed by false hope, as this hair cutter actually seemed to know how to use his scissors. It was a deception of the highest order.
            When he spun me for my final view, my hair was indeed shorter, but I am once more burdened with a chunk of hair that could possibly be bangs did they not extend past my chin. My second layer is at my shoulder, and the fine layer, really just a wisp of a layer, extended an inch past my shoulder.
            My ever valiant husband came to my rescue, staring with disgust in the mirror than pointing to the third wisp layer and declaring “No.” To which the hair cutter chopped it off and I am now at a two layer chop-do.


            It is my hope to wait until the ‘bangs’ layer has grown to an acceptable length then travel to Hong Kong and take my chances with getting my hair cut there. Wish me luck. Wish all of us luck. It’s a harsh land here, filled with innocent looking fiends wielding gleaming scissors. You’re chances of getting out looking as you once did or even as someone you would want to look like are slim. But those are the chances you take here, in China.

I have no idea what's happening here. But it is entirely accurate.
You see those scissors and you freaking book it.