finally, a haircut.

yesterday was the last day of classes for me, so after handing in my final essay, i had nothing to do for the rest of the afternoon.



and i was just sitting in front of my computer when i thought, hey, why note get a haircut?



so yeah, i got off my computer and trodded down the streets of new york trying to fin a reliable, seemingly reputable barbershop. you see, i've always had a bad experience with first times, hair-wise: everytime a new barber cuts my hair, it ends up ugly. Everytime i try to change my hairstyle, it turns up hideous. And of course, everytime i move to a new country, it's an adventure.



so yes, i went a couple of blocks down, and i saw this barbershop with the logo of some semmingly impressive institute on its door. and it said on a different sign: "MEN'S HAIRCUT - $5"



for one, i was apprehensive that they might not comprehend my Asian hair. But then again, how could i turn down a sale? hahaha



so i went in.



Hanged my coat on the side, and i was greeted by this strange European-looking dude.

that's not him. That's Sasha Pavlovic of the Cleveland Cavaliers. But he looks ALOT like him. Eurpoean features, a perpetual frown, and a mouth that's eternally half-open.



Well, when I went in, he asked me what i wanted. I said "just a trim". fine.



he walks around like a lost child. until he approaches this French guy in his mid-50s (i presume), to whom then they start conversing in some European language. For one, I'm sure it's not Spanish, cos I know Spanish when I hear it. So I went on to presume that the institution that they are affiliated to is some European, high-end one. I was elated. The middle-aged man looked impressive and confident, and I really hoped he was the one who was going to cut my hair.



Curiously, I looked at the sign again, and it said "ATLAS BARBER SCHOOL".



Then the lost child dude ushered me to a chair. My gut feelings were correct. I'm doomed.



Then it all became clear to me: the lost child is a student, the middle-aged man of bustling confidence is his mentor. My long hair will not only be gone, it will be ruined. Perhaps so much so that I will have to run out of the barbershop with a fake smile and sprint to the next barbershop for them to try to remedy it.



But yes, I prayed. very hard.



So there was this student, gingerly combing my hair. He was so meticulous the comb didn't even touch my scalp, really. From there I felt uncomfortable already. If this guy was in a barber school, he's most probably not even a freshman yet, just having orientation, i think. Then he takes his bottle of water to wet my hair, but instead of sprinkiling a bit on each angle, he showered my hair as if it was some garden plant.



Then i told the teacher that i wanted a trim, just to shorten my fringe, my sideburns, and straighten my back. Simple right? He happily acknowledged, then proceeded to translate it to my dear student.



He responded, then pinched like 15 strands of my hair, without strength, and measured about a thumb's length, and then snipped it. WOW. if this is the pace we're gonna be in, i might as well go home first and get my blanket. Really, it felt as if it really was a school, some lesson, a practical lesson, a laboratory lesson, a science project - and I WAS THE PROJECT. anyways, he went on like this, until the teacher saw him and reprimanded him. I tell you, this teacher is heaven-sent. So he progressed... but instead of pulling the hair to check the length, gliding across it to get to its end then cutting off the loose ends (i hope you know what i mean), he simply grabbed a handful of hair, raised it using a comb, and cut off whatever doesn't look straight.



I froze in panic.



So he went on, and my long sideburns were cut into an irritatingly straight line, like one of those early '90s male actors, with their distasteful central partings that flowed to the sides in a straight line. what's worse, he used freehand cutting towards my ear, making me almost jump out of my seat. I promise, my ear was almost lost in that debacle.



So after half an hour of more deep thought in his part and dreadful anticipation on mine, the teacher approached him and started a heated exchange with him. The teacher then furiously grabbed the comb and the pair of scissors.



BIG sigh of relief.



At long last, even though I know it's sick, I felt the blade of the scissors gliding against my scalp again. The comb was effective once more. I felt as if I'm having a REAL haircut again, you know, those where they just seemingly snip away, not minding what they really are doing to your hair. I liked it. There was the shoving of the head, the sporadic moments of pain when somehow, the scissors don't cut properly, pulling a bit of your hair; or perhaps it was some cluster of tangled up hair unintentionally pulled, whatever. It was painful, but at least i felt as if there was hope for redemption.



So at the end of it all, my prayers were heard, and i got out of that place relatively unscathed, keeping a semblance of my dignity. For the first time in my life, I shook the hand of my barber before i left, heartily saying "thank you"



Moral of the story:

1. No more cheap haircuts, especially from that store. Ok, maybe I'll try to find another place.
2. I think sometimes we take our barbers for granted. As in really, when was the last time you shook the hands of your barber, or complimented him or her? this season, make it a point to thank your barber.

One day you might have to do it in a near-death experience like mine, so start doing it now.



I'M OUT!!!

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