My life, it seams, is a series of bad haircuts.
I should have known better than to step in. Must have been the allure of the clever national chain advertising. Numerous good looking,vibrant, smiling faces overjoyed with their haircuts and the new found confidence. I too could be one of those people! If I just had the haircut to match.
So I proceed to take a seat in the barbers chair. As I wait for the stylist(butcher) to arrive I notice that that she is conversing with her co-worker. My stomach turns as I relize they are speaking to each other in what I assume is Vietnamese. I foresee a communications problem so I painstakingly explain to her in my clearest English how I would like my haircut. Mama always said that in life "We don't always get what we like", apparently this is will be one of those times.
I soon found myself having to defend my preference in hairstyle. I cringe as she shaves of a section of hair that she didn't deem appropriate and then to add to my torture, have to remind her that since she shaved off one side she would have to do the same to the other.
I leave the chair feeling violated in every sense of the word. Yet still I find that for some reason beyond rational thought, I feel obligated to tip.
Turns out my cut wasn't quite "Super".
4 comments:
heh heh. Grab a bowl, a buzzer, and a sister-in-law and you can go back to that "Davidito" look. :p
or there's always a mohawk...i know the desire to sport one lurks beneath..
:D
I hate when that happens.I love it when I try to explain what I want and they pretend to understand me, never works out.
Vietnamese never prosper. Always go for the fags. It's probably uncomfortable for you, but they're the best for haircutting.
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