Wednesday, May 3, 2017

Se Habla Espanol

There is a disadvantage to living in a community that has at least half of the population Hispanic and with restricted English-speaking abilities. Today, both Y and I had an encounter of the Espanol variety when we decided we each needed a hair trim before we leave on our visit to China. There’s a shop down the street that has both a lady’s hairdresser and a female barber. Last time I was there, I had the female hairdresser cut my hair, which was shoulder length at that time, and I liked the end product, so I headed out this morning for the haircut shop.

I went at 9 am, then 9;30, again at 10, back at 11, cruised by at 12 noon – and finally found the shop open when I gave it one last effort at 1:00 pm. It would be helpful if the hours of operation were posted, but that isn’t part of their business plan.

When it was my turn to sit in the chair, I shared a conversation with the stylist, who is actually a barber, rather than a hair dresser. We discussed my goal of shorter “cute” hair that would be easy-care on my upcoming trip. She asked me how much she could cut, which was a good sign, and I agree with ½ inch off the present length.

All ready to go, I confidently sat down in the chair. She held up a hank of hair and mimed cutting off ½ inch, to which I readily agreed. Here’s where the language thing raised its ugly head: I thought she was confirming she would cut off ½ inch from the present length, which is what I wanted, but what she was actually indicating was that she was going to cut my hair to an overall length of ½ inch. If you know Ellen Degeneres’s current haircut, that’s what my stylist had in her mind – and that’s what I am now sporting.

Yeah, yeah, I know: no sense in crying over a bad haircut because you can’t put the hair back on and just have to live through the growing-out stage. Y was kind and said it looked okay from the front, but he agreed that the back view was really, really short hair. Man’s barber short hair.

About an hour after I returned home, Y decided he, too, would go get a haircut as we’re leaving in a couple of weeks and this is a good time for some grooming. He returned home ½ hour later with the sides shaved bald, and the rest of his hair appropriately short enough to make my ½ inch length look long. He grimaced as he told me that he showed her a picture of what he wanted, a very current and stylish cut, and I could sympathize, but … you can’t glue it back onto your head.

So, we’re going to China with really short hair, which will be easy to care for while we’re doing the tourist things we have planned, but we’re both committed to finding another stylist when we return from our trip and need a trim!

1 comment:

John said...

I really don't know why you even still go to barbers. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me for the 10,153 time, shame on me! ;-)