80´s Haircut From Hell
I´d arrived in Santiago later than I really wanted after missing a night bus back from La Serena. All the buses back to the capital were booked up pretty early, I stayed the night over in La Serena and got up early to catch the 7:30 bus to Santiago.
I eventually got to Santiago at around 2 in the afternoon, stressed and pushed for time I had to attempt to get some washing done and get a haircut before catching my flight to Sao Paulo the next morning. I took my washing to the laundrette and attempted to communicate in my basic Spanish, I ended up miming and eventually figured out what to do.
After putting my washing in the dyer I rushed out to find a place to get my over-grown hair cut. I should have known it would be trouble when I entered the ´old skool´establishment named ´Flash´ but at this late hour I had little choice. I had earlier noted the huge preference for the ´mullet´ haircut in Santiago it was interesting to see so many variations of the style which is a fashion foe par back home. On entering I was greeted by the barber who I undoubtedly impressed with my Spanish asking him for a hair cut and informing him of how little Spanish I actually knew. He laughed and told me that I was the second English person who he had ever had in his shop, it didn´t fill me with confidence but I had already decided to go with the flow. Sat in the barbers chair I managed to communicate that I only wanted a little bit cut off. He proceeded to shuffle through a handful of magazines to pull out a booklet of potential haircuts.
The cover of the booklet was faded and looked as if it was decades old. On opening it my stomach filled with fear as I was confronted by 80´s style mullets, side on profiles of pony tails, yuppie slicked back gelled hair and Ivan Drago flat tops. I was in two minds, already donning the hairdressers cape should I make a run for the door when the barbers back is turned or should I go through with it? The worst case scenario I thought would be shaving the 80´s cut off once he´s finished. I closed the booklet and turned to the barber and told him I wanted the same but just a little shorter, I had my fingers crossed that I had actually spoken the right spanish word for ´the same´.
He did´t hang around, hacking straight into my hair as I thought to myself about possible back up plans for the hair cut from hell. After completely destroying the style he decided it was time to wash my hair. Returning from the wash basin the barber applied a huge handful of `old skool´gel. Depressed I wandered out of the shop in a daze and onto the Santiago streets with my scalp cold and wet from the greasy gel.
It looked bad but to my relief wasn´t too bad at all after I had removed the layers of gel in my hair. It was a interesting and worrying experience, although saying that I was always prepared for the worst putting my faith in a cheap barber in a strange country.
