CHAPTER 10
A ‘Mexican haircut’ in the old west could mean being scalped while the scalpee was still conscious. Let me say that they have come quite a ways since then… but not all the way yet.
Today was the day that I had set aside to make the world a more beautiful place and get my cranium follicles reshaped into the proper proportion to my face. I had been scouting out the various barber shops in the area and while a young rising star near the beach had a shop where he created works of art with his scissors (priced to match) I had decided on a budget-friendly shop populated by 3 dimunitive female artisans. Actually I think 2 were trainees (hence the price) and a third would be the sensei.
Just as I entered, the older woman of mature weight and bone structure was leaving, but I was assured that either of the remaining girls was a worthy opponent to the bush that had implanted itself above my eyebrows. They just had to finish watching their YouTube tutorial (did I mention the great price?).
I was given the chair closest to the sidewalk (like most small businesses along the highway there were no doors or windows, just an expanse that left everyone open to every passerby). The girl, let’s call her Anilee, held up a pair of clippers and said ‘numero dos?’ I could see that we would be operating on the universal sign language network during this episode. I thought to myself she’s the one who almost finished video two in the thirty-seven step series and she’s asking ME for advice? $4.97 doesn’t go as far as it used to.
I nodded in the affirmative and the clippers jumped to life with nary a spark from the cord. Now there were 3 units each with a different purpose all plugged into the same outlet so all of the cords were intertwined which made them each much shorter and this first one was stretched taut against my shoulder blades so she pushed my head in the direction of the outlet so she could shave the far side of my head with numero dos. In retrospect numero treis would have been my regular choice but how bad could it be.
Then she was clipping my other side which worked out well because the second girl was yanking the twisted mass towards her customer’s furthest reaches. It was like a choreography as both of us moved in unison, first to one side then the other.
The chairs were not adjustable so Anilee was forced to lean way down and we were almost forehead to forehead as she moved from side to side and then stood back still holding the clippers which pulled the cord under my armpit. She furrowed her brow, turned to the other girl who was struggling with her guy, and made the universal sign of the mushroom. Hmmm…
The mirror in front of me was pitted and cracked so I looked like I had 3 eyes, and a bad case of zits. Anilee now brought out her scissors, fumbling to get the correct fingers in the 2 holes but finally did so and smiled broadly at this accomplishment. I squinted but couldn’t see any blood residue on the sharpened edge so we were good to go. After clipping my sides close to the scalp she now pinched a few hairs between her fingers opened her eyes wide and took an eighth of an inch off of about six hairs. Then repeated the process once more in the middle of my head.
She stood back again cocking her head to the right and awaited her companions approval. The second girl, let’s call her Quinn, looked over quickly, shrugged her shoulders and made the universal ‘it’s good enough’ sign. This was more than enough to please young Anilee and she put down the scissors and reached for the brush to clean off the debris from my face and neck. Not wanting to take my eye out she just made a drive by pass along my forehead and then went on to brush my loose hairs from my neck onto my shirt and under my collar which was itchy like you can’t believe.
Now in a state of bliss she removed the plastic wrap that had protected the front of my clothes and the grey/black hairs fell onto my feet and lodged in my sandals under my soles and along the Velcro strap.
Ta da! In a record 8 minutes I had gone from old-looking gringo to cherubic forest fungal-looking weirdo. Now able to stand and admire her handiwork I decided that the sides will grow back and Rachel can trim the rest when I see her and pronounced the job ‘muy bien’.
The effort and concern that she showed was worthy of a decent tip and as I walked onto the sidewalk I could hear the 2 girls slap hands in a high five moment no doubt choking Quinn’s customer whose head was more fruit-like in shape, so I felt I was the clear cut winner today.
Blue Delivery 