Another day, another woman fucking with my head

I got a haircut this afternoon. Actually, it'd be more accurate to say that I got sheared this afternoon. I found a good barber/stylist over a year ago and I've been going to them every since. It's always the same two people - a guy and a girl - and they both do an excellent job. The only real problem that I have is their accents. They're Asian and the first time the woman cut my hair, I could have sworn that she asked me, "You you use yell?" After repeating herself a half-dozen times, she finally got me to understand that she was asking me if I used (hair) gel. Oh. Ooops. So the accent can be a bit of a problem for me sometimes. That and the fact that they seem excessively interested in my life...

Where do you live? Across the street.

How long have you lived there? About a year and a half.

What do you do for a living? Software developer.

Do you like it? Yes, provided they let me do it without excessive meetings and corporate bullshit.

Are you hung like a horse? Yes.¹

So the constant questions are kinda weird. I mean, I'm only in there for a 15 minute period so I can get my hair cut and that's it. No styling, highlights or anything like that. My mullet is stylish enough. Unfortunately, summers in Georgia are simply too hot for mullets, at least for a Damn Yankee like me. So today I decided to get a trim. Nothing major, just a trim. Less of a cut than usual, in fact. My usual routine is "short on the sides and cut the top as short as possible without it getting all spikey and shit."

Today was a disaster, though. First of all, the guy is wearing an arm brace and the usual woman is nowhere in sight. Instead, a new face strolls out of the back and begins making preparations. The dude tries to be helpful and explains to the new lady that they usually use the #3 clippers on my hair. I, however, have decided that #4 clippers are in order as I just want enough of a trim so that it looks a bit tidier. So the lady says, "Numba foe crippah arr over, right?" I nod. Sounds good to me. Because I know that the dude knows how my hair is usually cut and it never occurs to me to take this chick literally. So it's with some surprise that I watch in the mirror as she drags the Numba Foe crippahs across the top of my head. Time slows down as I watch a hefty clump of hair bounce off my shoulder and onto my lap. Some portion of my mind notes that my face has gone pale as I contemplate the first 10 seconds of her handiwork. I've got a reverse mohawk, for cryin' out loud. As she moves the clippers in for another attack, I duck away and explain what I really wanted. My fault, of course. The dude knows how I like my hair cut. The other chick knows how I like my hair cut. This chick just took my words at face value. Haha. Not a mistake anyone here makes, eh? Ahhh, well. I'm not totally bald and she did pull a decent haircut out of the initial wreckage.

As for me, I've learned my lesson: communication is the key to a healthy relationship. Oh, yes. It is.

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¹ - Okay, a seahorse.

(cross-posted at my regular hangout: Thunder And Roses)

Posted by Zonker at June 16, 2006 03:49 PM