Adventures in Hairstyling - Part Two

He was wearing a Puma t-shirt, black with white letters, tucked into his stonewashed jeans. The stubble along his temples gave away his sculpted hairline, revealing that his natural born one didn't seem to meet his criteria for what Beautiful Hair should look like.

And then, of course, there was the gold chain. *

Around his wrist.

Really, in hindsight, I should have just run.

Just let Jenny finish me off with the toenail scissors. **

But, by this point, I was already in the chair - long before I realized what was happening.

See, they were offering cheap haircuts. And me? Well, my financial resources haven't been increasing lately so much as rapidly evaporating. So - cheap haircut it was.

Back to me. Sitting. Terrified.

My appointment had been scheduled the day before and I was already having reservations about the plan then. I had waited a few days after my Toenail Scissor Trimming and things seemed to be just fine. But, I was looking for jobs and desperately in need of some of the mop being cut off.

We walked in the day before and asked for an appointment. The middle-aged, olive-skinned woman with the bad dye job said there wasn't time then but I could schedule an appointment for the next morning at 10. I then went about psyching myself up for what I was sure would be an awful haircut at the hands of this woman.

But, no. Not her. No. Instead, it was him. Something else entirely.

In my defense, I didn't actually know what was happening until it was too late. We arrived on time for the appointment and took a seat. The woman with the bad dye job was cutting an older woman's hair. There was a younger girl there too, who looked like she was probably the woman's daughter, getting another seat ready. I breathed a sigh of relief, figuring she would be the one to cut my hair.

I barely registered the guy, now standing by the counter, fixing the credit card printer and taking off his black leather jacket.

They told me to take a seat. While sitting there, I watched the girl take another customer to her seat and start working on her hair. I was a bit confused.

Then he walked up.

We quickly discovered that he was the only hairdresser in all of Sweden who did not speak English (well, there's Sven, but he's 87 and only does "High and Tight" do's for the elderly gents of Gullspång). Jenny started translating what I wanted while the cold sweats were setting in.

I already have a hard enough time explaining what I want to a native English-speaking hairdresser (just ask Meighan). I am incredibly vague, horribly picky, and never use anything as a reference. But now I was communicating what I wanted in English (using words Jenny openly admits she doesn't entirely understand what they mean - like "shaggy") to an English-as-a-second-language speaker who was now translating that, in as close a way as possible, into Swedish for a I-really-hope-Swedish-is-your-second-language speaker. My head was starting to spin while I tackled the math involved in figuring out how many times the instructions were being Xeroxed - copy of a copy of a copy. The end of the line in this bad game of telephone was the guy with the gold bracelet and sharp pointy things pointed at my head.

My knees shook a little.

While the instructions were being passed along, I had a bit too much time to look around. Apparently Barber Cleanliness Standards in Sweden aren't quite what they are in America. I soon found myself counting the number of different hair colors and types I could see caught in the scissors and comb and electric razor. Never have I missed the sight of giant jars of bright blue Barbicide so much.

Jenny stopped talking and he seemed satisfied with the directions provided while I considered taking the opportunity to politely run for the exit.

Run with dignity, if you will.

But I didn't.

And he cut. And cut. And cut.

Very quickly.

Just grabbing fingerfuls of hair.

And cutting.

At first, Jenny watched from the sidelines. I could see her out of the corner of my eyes. I looked at her. Pleaded for her to do something to make this all better.

After a little while, I noticed she had buried her face behind a magazine. It seemed she could bear it no more.

He finished the cutting quite quickly. Then reached for the thinning shears. And cut more. Quickly. And quite deep this time.

In the end, when compared with other haircuts I have been unhappy with, this one does not rank nearly as bad as many others. However...

That still doesn't mean I don't feel ridiculous.

I went home after paying my 99 krowns (by far the cheapest haircut I will find here) and immediately showered to try and wash away the bits of hair from a dozen other people that I could feel in my hair.

The next day, I was running my hand through my hair and felt a strange bristle.

"No..." I thought.

So I checked some more.

Oh yes.

All throughout my hair, it felt like I had a buzz cut. Hairs a single centimeter long in straight rows. From where he used the thinning shears so deep and low. So, spread out over my head are hairs, randomly, anywhere between 1/2 to 4 inches long.

I should have stopped at the gold chain.

__________________________________

* I would like to sincerely apologize to anyone who wears Puma shirts (tucked in), stonewashed jeans, gold chains, and sculpted hairlines. But, c'mon, seriously?

** Regarding the many complaints I received about not posting a picture of The Toenail Scissor Haircut (and now The Gold Chain 'Do), it was only because I failed to take a picture of either. I hope you know I try my very hardest to destroy whatever remains of my dignity in each and every one of these entries. I really do.

To help make amends, I am posting a picture of myself from earlier today, upon waking up from a nap - which was immediately preceded by a shower.

You're welcome.