Sunday, October 12, 2014

A Trip to the Barber in Panama

I haven't been to the barber for approximately three years. Until today.

During that time, I've cut my own hair. It works fine, apart from the occasional really long random hair I miss that sprouts from my head like an antenna. I really don't care how it looks to be honest. It just needs to look OK.

But my clippers didn't make the trip to Panama. And my first attempt to cut my own hair here with a beard styler ended so badly my girlfriend had to spend hours fixing it, while she alternated between amused and horrified at the large chunks I took out of the back of my head.

This time I went to a salon.

My Spanish is still improving, so all I could say is "I want it shorter" and "I want to look like a man of business." In Panama this was understood as "Make me look like Vanilla Ice." While he trimmed the sides nicely, he kept the top much longer than any farm boy from Eastern Oregon would want.

A number of other odd things occurred. While not positive if these experiences are consistent with all salon visits or just here in Panama, I found the following noteworthy.

  • After rinsing my hair, the stylist vigorously dried my ears using his fingers and a towel. That felt slightly forward.
  • An equally vigorous head rub with the towel was used to dry my hair.
  • He shaved my cheeks with clippers.
  • He spent about 5 minutes blow drying my bangs so they would stand straight up.
  • He then liberally applied gel and mousse until my hair was stiff enough you could iron a shirt on it. 
He then sent me out into the mall looking like this:

Please help! My hair won't come down.
Even as I write, its still sticking straight up in the air.

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