Hair-raising ordeal with a hairstylist

By E. Effendi

JAKARTA (JP): I know that there are some men who never get a good haircut, and I know that I am one of them. My hairstyle is so ugly that if it was put on Brad Pitt's head, it would make him look like Chewbacca, only funnier.

I am sure that some of you have the same problem, since I sometimes laugh at your hairstyle when I pass you on the street. I am sure there is someone who laughs at other people's hairstyles every day.

We hair-impaired people always have problems in choosing a good hair salon or barbershop. In fact, we hate to enter them since we always end up detesting the result. Therefore in choosing a good hair salon, we usually only use one long-standing standard: it's within walking distance from our house.

It is what I always do. Since I can never find a good place to cut my hair, I might as well go to the nearest one and hope for the best. The problem is, like sex, we just do not know how good it is until the job is done. There is no rating for the hairdressers; you just have to choose one and hope they never touched Don King's tresses.

Before you go there, let me give you this manly advice: bring your own magazine. Those places, even the barbershops, usually only have women's magazines. As there is nothing else to do, you have to read one. Usually, after I have read several cooking articles, they call my name. Finally, I can get my hair "renovated". They do not jump straight to the cut-and-trim job; they have to wash my hair first.

I proceed to the washing territory, or whatever they call it, and the guy who stands behind the basin asks me whether I want the warm or cold water.

The problem is I am never sure of what I should answer. Is it a trick question? What difference does it make? I am a warm water kind of guy, but what if he is a cold water guy? Would that upset him? Trust me, I never want to upset a man who could legally take a pair of scissors to my head.

I am stunned for a moment and then say "half warm and half cold", always a safe answer. Then the guy is stunned.

Another problem about the shampoo is that I never know what to do when someone lathers my hair. Should I close my eyes? I once tried to open them and looked at the washer guy, and whoa! I have to tell you that looking up someone's nostrils was not a pretty sight, I thought he was the one who definitely needed a trim job in that area.

And what to do with my hands? Fold them? Hang them loose? I looked at the girl next to me and she was sleeping. How could she do that? There's water in her ears and she is still dozing. Hypnotized, I think.

After the wash, I am ushered to a chair and the guy asks me what kind of cut I want.

I also am never sure what to answer to that question. Do I have to say exactly how many inches he has to cut? Or which part of my hair that I want combed. So, again, I give the safe answer of "not too long and not too short". Again, the guy is stunned.

How they treat your hair in there. Do you have the guts to see what you look like in the mirror when this barbaric thing happens? You hope against hope that the hair in the mirror is not yours. It's like your look for the next month will depend on whether you ever did something wrong to your stylist. I mean, he had all the right to make you a permanent resident of Dorksville. You also have to consider his mood right then, since he has spent most of his life playing razor on someone's head for a minimum wage. No wonder he never understood the concept of "just a trim".

Then, before you have the time to disagree about his cut, it's done. Of course, you hate it. One time, my head looked exactly like a balloon, and the stylist did not show any remorse about his actions.

I think the government or Indonesian Consumers Foundation should introduce regulations to prevent this kind of situation from affecting innocent victims like me. There should be some kind of punishment for the stylist if he fails to satisfy me.

Maybe my revenge would be to cut his hair any style I want, and then I could have my money back, and then take his house, cars and wife. He apparently would still have absolute power over his victims, so there would be nothing I could do, except pee on his chair.

No, of course I would not do that. Instead, I pull up my shirtsleeves, look the hairstylist in the eye and walk home in embarrassment, hoping nobody I know sees me looking like this.

I should learn something from these experiences that could make my life easier: cut my own hair, and wear a hat.