About that Haircut..

So as promised towards the end of my prior discourse I promptly went in search of new material to blog about.  That came in the form of my visit to the barber.

I believe it says Salon on the neon, in funky script somewhere over the door.  Hey but who cares - its the cheapest mowing facility available in town.  Run by a 5' dude from Vietnam who we shall call Mr. K.  That itself should be fundoo enough to fill pages.

So it is.  First of all there are a plethora of half ass partially ripped signs on all walls indicating the cost of an adult haircut with a 30% premium for those wanting to use plastic to pay him instead of paper.

Then comes the ATM machine next to the signage but next to the till.  This availability at the point of sale yields some nice commissions to Mr. K from the daft folks that walk in with nothing in their pocket except their ATM card.

I walked in on a weekday morning knowing that this is a sure fire way to be in n out in under 10 minutes.  I do that when changing oil (in the car that is).  Never spend more time in these places than absolutely required.

So there he was sweeping away with a contraption similar to one I have seen in India but much more ergonomically designed to yield more output.  A bigger fan like fibre base to sweep with a tall handle so one does not have to bend where it hurts.  Sweep, sweep he went - collecting the top shelf droppings of the prior customer.

I asked if I could perch to get the business underway.  Gimme 1 minit.  I agreed  - told him to take two.  I was in a good mood.  I had just finished changing oil on my conveyance earlier in record time.  The optimizer gods were smiling on me.

Then in the promised minute he called me to take my seat on the spinner.  All chairs can spin at the barber shop.  Easy access and egress.   I wish all chairs everywhere were like that.  Look in any direction that fancies you and get out any which way you want.  Of course with a firm hand he plants you facing the mirror while going about the trimming.

Once settled with my recycled plastic cape and a formal priest collar taped around my carotid he asked how I would like it cut.

I provided the blade number (primarily aimed at losing a lot of the growth in shortest time in the chair) and pondered his next move.  Off he went to switch the trimming tool to the setting I prefer while starting to sing song with his female partner who was tending to another Desi Skull that belonged to the female species.   I had not seen them - they were in the back in the dark. 

If you ever hear two Viets speaking it sounds something like a hitherto non defined string instrument that is in the process of being tested for treble for the first time.  Twing Tang Bong Yack Yack Mong Ming Dank Fink....and over again this time Funk Fink Dooong Twing Tsk Tsk.

Somehow its quite soothing because I am used to it and conveys a sense of order and predictability that my hair are being fashioned off in the right way.  Had he been silent I would worry if he was paying any attention or brooding and might slice me.

And so this goes on for the first minute or so until she releases her customer for a while and saunters into my field of vision.  She wants some tools from the drawer in front of me (no not from my drawers in case you are getting ideas).

Now I must say that the female of the species that hails from the Viet arena are petite and quite fetching to ogle at - compared to the male of that region for sure.  So with mild interest I start my ogling (as best one can when a high speed scissor is hovering in close proximity to your left ear) when Mr. K decidedly pushes my head down to take a close look at the back of my scalp.

The sing song yack yack continues for another minute as he finishes cleaning me up and pulls out the oval mirror to display the skills he has exhibited at the back of my neck line.  Receiving my default approval - what am I going to say - oh you missed that fur growth on the big wart that looks like a melon?) he proceeds to remove my cape and gives a knowing smile.  He knows I pay cash - exact change at that so no margin for squeezing margin.

As I am leaving I ask him about his broom - Did you get that from Vietnam?  (as if thinking - now he is going to laugh me out by telling me its from Zambia).  Instead points me to a corner bucket holding a bunch like a flower pot - proudly proclaiming - MADE IN VIETNAM - $6 each.

All this cross sell and up sell -  from a marginally educated, barely bilingual, third world dude.  Where there is a will there is a cut.