Us nerd types aren't renowned for taking care of our bodies too well (although there does seem to be a disturbing trend eminating from Redmond for nerds to start doing things like going to the gym, mountain biking and other such strangeness). Anyway, in my case, my Nerdiness extends to "that mop of hair on my head will take care of itself if washed daily, until it starts to tickle me and then I need to hire a specialist to fix it".
The annoying strands of hair falling in your face and tickling the crap of my nose syndrome started this week and then strangely I got a free complimentary "cut and style" card through the door from some uber-snotty hairdressers that I went to once and never went back to. Seems they missed me. So, Heather booked the appointment and I took an early lunch today to wander down there and have the afformentioned specialist resolve my hair bugs so that I could get back to being a nerd. Now, I don't feel comfortable at hairdressers at the best of times. Dammit, I'm just not comfortable around attractive women I don't know, who want to talk to me for no apparent reason. They also always seem to be full of a mix of hideously unattractive and un-believably attractive female customers who all, without exception, stop talking and turn to the face the door when a guy walks in. It's kinda like those scenes in Westerns where the stranger with no name walks into the bar and all the regulars and locals turn to eye him up with an air of uneasy distrust. All in all then, hairdressers are not a comfortable place for me.
Today was an classic example, but massively turned upside down and generally just f*cked up. The hair architect (seriously, that was her title) sat down and gazed deeply into my eyes, shook my hands and seem to take an incredible interest in my face while she talked to me about what I wanted done. "Ummm, just cut it really short please". "Nothing else?" she asked, coyly. Now starting to feel REALLY uncomfortable I blurted out the first words that entered my head "I dunno - I'm a guy!".
After that mini interview we went over to the wash basin to wash my hair ready for the cutting. Now, I've had this done a few times in my life and usually the experience is akin to some woman with nails that Freddy Kreuger would be proud of scoring great big lines in my scalp as she works the shampoo in, before attempting to physically wring my head out like a wet rag. Not today thought. Miss "overtly interested in everything about me" Hair Architect slowly, sensually, using only her fingertips, massaged my scalp. I need to stress this - it wasn't right. it was slow, very slow, very very sensual. Shit it was almost like the first moves on that extra special date with a new girlfriend.
I told Heather about it, and she said "Oh that's what they do there - it's relaxing, almost puts you to sleep". Well, I did close my eyes, but sleep wasn't at all what I had in mind. I do remember the words "Please god get me the hell out of here NOW" floating through my brain at one point.
Then, onto the haircut proper. Now it's not unusual for hair stylist types to press against you now and then - they have to get somewhat close apparently to get under the hood as it were and cut the hair itself. But this girl I swear was pressed against me constantly for about 45 minutes while she prepared my head, eyeing me in the mirror with a coy smile and the occassional girlish gigle as her fingers wound through every strand of hair on my scalp. 45 minutes of it. I don't think I've ever had a girls booby bits swished all over my chest and back for 45 minutes without it landing in a marriage proposal.
Again, Heather says that's normal - that's what they are like there. WHERE? Amsterdam? Bangkok (by the way, isn't that just the perfect name for that city!!). Eventually she finished doing everything possible to make me feel incredibly uncomfortable. I think I personally recounted every line of code in my new book for 45 minutes to put my mind elsewhere, before she eventually sat down in a chair directly opposite me, peered into my eyes (in a deep "OOOOOOOOO BABY" kinda way) and said "So, what do you think?"
Again, blurted words appeared "Yeah, thanks. Its nice. Can I have my coat?"
The Roadrunner aint got nothing on me. I fled to my jeep, jumped in, literally drove over the pavement (sorry, sidewalk if your foreign) and hurried home to the safety of my beautiful wife and child.
<shudder>
That just wasn't right. That was odd. Very very odd. Next time I'm going to a traditional barber shop run by a guy in his 80's with no hair or teeth and a Royal Marine insignia tatooed on his forearms.
12:49:02 PM 
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