Hairy Affair

I woke up this morning and realized that it was that time of the month for me. As I sleepily looked into the mirror, I couldn't help but notice the TWA (teeny weenie afro) growing on the top of my head. I really wanted to get my hair cut in SF one last time before I left, but there was just no way to fit it in.

I briefly thought about going to a fancy salon (they probably have one in the hotel that is in my building), but the allure of getting my haircut for less than 10 bucks overtook me. I trudged down to Wan Chai to try yet another venue.

Being a create of habit, I found myself at the exact place that AC forced me to go last time. Not wanting to be a fool twice in a row, I opted for the place next door. As I climbed the stairs, I noticed many hand-painted signs for the Goodwill store on the top floor. Characters from The Simpsons greeted me one after another, showing me the way to basement bargains at the top of the stairs. I can't imagine what kind of stuff they sell there, given that this section of Wan Chai is completely filled with crap-quality factory seconds that come directly from China. But at least they're not used ...

Were it not for the overwhelming smell of perming solution, I might have erroneously ended up at Goodwill, but the trail of hair led me to the correct location. I was quickly escorted over to the hair washing station decorated with a "Meet Joe Black" poster that had seen better days. I will say getting a scalp massage while looking at Brad Pitt wasn't half bad. She must have thought I was particularly dirty, because she washed my hair three times. It was an interesting combination of head massage and hair-pulling -- a mix of pleasure and pain that I would expect at some S&M establishment in San Francisco.

My "stylist" was a guy. Interestingly, I haven't had my hair cut by a woman the whole time I've been here. After carefully explaining what I wanted (since it's hot as hell, I'm willingly opting to be bald now), I checked out the scenery in the mirror. The ceiling was like the sky -- bright blue with clouds. To my right was something I never figured out what it was. It hung from the ceiling, was round, and had all kinds of black cords and plugs in it. It looked more like a torture device than anything (maybe this S&M thing was no accident!).

After covering my body with three aprons, I began to sweat like a pig. I have no idea why they gave me so many layers, but that shit does not breathe. Sweat started to roll down my forehead and combine with my freshly-cut hair to form a wolf-manish coating all over my face.

Seeing what a mess I was, they took me back to wash me again. I had to gingerly step through a group of people sitting on the stairs eating their lunch. I wonder how much of my hair fell into their cup-o-noodles. I didn't sit quite right in the chair, so my hair washer friend kindly pulled me into position by my ears.

Getting my hair cut has become quite an adventure. Give me a month or so, and I'll have a new non-hygienic adventure to share!