Haircut

For the first two months every situation was overwhelming.  The first day of work: terrifying.  Buying groceries: here's my wallet, reach in and take what you need.  Gradually things have become easier.

Some people have a personality like a bulldozer; they dive in and make a way.  For those of you who know me, my personality is more like a wet kitten.  I'm not by nature a bold man.

Today, it was time for a haircut.  There are salons that are a lot like the ones back in the States, but there are also a plethora of mom-and-pop barbershops.  If you walk for more than 5 blocks on any street, you will see a barber pole.  Feeling venturous, I walked to the nearest barber, walked in and went for it.  I walked in, sat down and told her I wanted the usual.

Not really.

When I opened the door a buzzer went off.  By buzzer I mean a klaxon to warn that the submarines were attacking.  And the buzzer was attached to the door at ear level.  I heard scurrying at the side of the house.  A little old woman ran up to the side window and looked in.  "Eeeeh,"  she said, "Chotto matte kudasai."  Oh, wait just a moment please.

She must have been in her garden.  She came in and asked what I wanted.  I tried to explain.  We laughed at my lack of Japanese.  We decided to dive right in.

She said she would shampoo my hair.  Okay, but where are the sinks?  Oh, they fold down and you lean forward over them, okay.  That's different.

Pause for a minute and think about how many questions your barber asks you.....Uh, huh.  A lot.  Do you want that to taper? How long do you want it? How much do you want me to leave? How much do you want me to take off?

If you noticed, those last three are variations of the same question.  that was the biggest misunderstanding we had.  I wanted her to leave about half an inch.  She thought I wanted her to cut half an inch off.  Once she started cutting, the misunderstanding was apparent.  She asked me a question I didn't understand.  She had a great sense of humor about it and was able to laugh.  She grabbed a piece of paper and drew what she meant.  Apparently here, a "sports-cut" is a flat top.  Thankfully we cleared up THAT misunderstanding in time.

She rubbed some gunk in my hair and went to work cutting.  I looked around.  There weren't clippers anywhere.  How was she going to do the back?  How was she going to do around my ears and the back of my neck?  It was too late for second thoughts.  I'd just have to ride it out and see.

She finished the cut and said, "Moichido shampoo."  One more shampoo. Okay.

After that she said something about a shave.  "Keko desu," I said pointing to my beard, "Uchi."  No thanks, I'll do it at home.  She laughed and grabbed a mustache cup and a shaving cream brush.  Apparently I was about to say goodbye to my beard.  She pulled out her straight razor (huh?!??!) and brushed shaving cream on the back of my neck and around my ears.  The first thought that popped into my mind was "I don't have peroxide or rubbing alcohol at home, so if she nicks me I'm in trouble."  Never have I held so still in the barber's chair.  She folded down one ear, carefully shaving the edge of my hair line, working her way around my head.

After the shave she gave me a little shoulder massage.  It couldn't have been more than 45 seconds but it was the best shoulder massage I've ever had.

"Ikura desu ka (How much is it)," I asked.
"Sanzen en."  Three thousand yen.  Thirty dollars!  Ouch.  I paid and she gave me some complimentary tissues.

It was expensive, but what a great experience.  Even a haircut can be foreign. Everyday things can be cultural experiences.  Fortunately I picked a barber with a sense of humor.  We both laughed at our inability to communicate.