I have always been pretty particular about my hair, not because I studied hairdressing at one time; I mainly put it down to my OD. Yes I am slightly obsessive about certain things and one of them is my hair. I must wash, dry and style my hair everyday and the only time that doesn’t happen is when I am too sick to get out of bed, and that does not happen. I cannot stand it when my hair gets too long and hangs in my eyes, the worst is when I wash and dry my hair in the morning, I want the style to last the whole day and when it doesn’t I get pissed. Once it gets too long nothing will keep that hair standing in the spiky style I like.
So the other day I realized my hair was getting too long as it was flopping all over the place. The morning I decided to cut my hair I washed it then headed over to my hair stylist. I go to the same hairdresser all the time as he speaks English. Over the years I have had some pretty hoarky hair cuts because after living in Malaysia for twenty eight years I still do not have a very good grasp of Hokkien or Malay. I know shame on me but this article is not about my lack of communicating skills. It has taken me years to find a hairdresser who cuts my hair the way I like it and speaks English so I can explain what I want.
Upon reaching the salon at almost eleven o’clock in the morning I saw that they weren’t open yet which pissed me off. After all I want to cut my hair; you’re supposed to be open at ten o’clock where the hell you are. Disappointed I go home again and wait. At twelve o’clock I go back and I am told by the kid who washes hair that Denis is not there yet and probably won’t be there until three o’clock. By now I am ready to blow a gasket because one of my quirks is that when I decide to do something I want to do it then and there and this sometimes gets me into trouble, but hey what can I say. So I decided to go to my son Justin’s hairstylist, the one he calls Hoaray (inside joke), when I go and fetch my youngest son Jordan, home from school.
I pick my son up and ask him if he can wait while I cut my hair, he’s thinking I’m going to my usual hairstylist which is close to home so he says he’ll walk back from there. I inform him that I am going to Hoaray’s so he says he would like to sit with his friends, at the mamak stall I picked him up from and wait. Fine by me. I leave him there and drive off the hairdresser’s shop which is not far away. I get to the salon and Hoaray tells me he can cut my hair straight away. I have had my haircut by him before but stopped going to him because 1) he is irritating, insisting on cutting your hair the way he wants and 2) he doesn’t speak English. I sit in the chair and he gets on with it, He’s like Edward Scissor hands, he has a shaver in one hand and a comb in the other and the next thing I know hair is flying. As he cuts my hair we have a weird conversation, weird because I am speaking English and broken Hokkien and he is speaking broken English and Hokkien. Through the conversation I gather that he knows my son Justin, cuts his hair and says that my son looks like me oh and he also tells me he knows how I like my hair cut. Once he is done with the electric shaver he grabs the scissors and once again hair is flying all over the place and within ten minutes I am done. He asks the girl to rinse my hair and dry it. Once that is done he checks my hair and cuts a little more where it is uneven and once he is satisfied he applies gel and spikes my hair. I pay him and leave.
I arrive back at the mamak where my son is and honk. He comes running and climbs in the car. As he settles he looks at me and says “What the hell did you do to your hair!” “It’s shorter than mine.” My kids have potty mouth as my sister Angela would say, can’t blame them they learned from the best, me. I learned from my mother how to cuss but I have to admit that as my mother aged she cleaned up her act, probably because she hung around with a better class of people. As for me I still cuss. He’s right though my hair is short in fact it is as short as Justin’s. I think Hoaray was thinking about his hair style when he cut my hair. It’s ok though, it will grow and with the weather being so hot lately I feel so much cooler. The downside is I look like a man with boobs but hey at least it’s not a faux hawk!
So the other day I realized my hair was getting too long as it was flopping all over the place. The morning I decided to cut my hair I washed it then headed over to my hair stylist. I go to the same hairdresser all the time as he speaks English. Over the years I have had some pretty hoarky hair cuts because after living in Malaysia for twenty eight years I still do not have a very good grasp of Hokkien or Malay. I know shame on me but this article is not about my lack of communicating skills. It has taken me years to find a hairdresser who cuts my hair the way I like it and speaks English so I can explain what I want.
Upon reaching the salon at almost eleven o’clock in the morning I saw that they weren’t open yet which pissed me off. After all I want to cut my hair; you’re supposed to be open at ten o’clock where the hell you are. Disappointed I go home again and wait. At twelve o’clock I go back and I am told by the kid who washes hair that Denis is not there yet and probably won’t be there until three o’clock. By now I am ready to blow a gasket because one of my quirks is that when I decide to do something I want to do it then and there and this sometimes gets me into trouble, but hey what can I say. So I decided to go to my son Justin’s hairstylist, the one he calls Hoaray (inside joke), when I go and fetch my youngest son Jordan, home from school.
I pick my son up and ask him if he can wait while I cut my hair, he’s thinking I’m going to my usual hairstylist which is close to home so he says he’ll walk back from there. I inform him that I am going to Hoaray’s so he says he would like to sit with his friends, at the mamak stall I picked him up from and wait. Fine by me. I leave him there and drive off the hairdresser’s shop which is not far away. I get to the salon and Hoaray tells me he can cut my hair straight away. I have had my haircut by him before but stopped going to him because 1) he is irritating, insisting on cutting your hair the way he wants and 2) he doesn’t speak English. I sit in the chair and he gets on with it, He’s like Edward Scissor hands, he has a shaver in one hand and a comb in the other and the next thing I know hair is flying. As he cuts my hair we have a weird conversation, weird because I am speaking English and broken Hokkien and he is speaking broken English and Hokkien. Through the conversation I gather that he knows my son Justin, cuts his hair and says that my son looks like me oh and he also tells me he knows how I like my hair cut. Once he is done with the electric shaver he grabs the scissors and once again hair is flying all over the place and within ten minutes I am done. He asks the girl to rinse my hair and dry it. Once that is done he checks my hair and cuts a little more where it is uneven and once he is satisfied he applies gel and spikes my hair. I pay him and leave.
I arrive back at the mamak where my son is and honk. He comes running and climbs in the car. As he settles he looks at me and says “What the hell did you do to your hair!” “It’s shorter than mine.” My kids have potty mouth as my sister Angela would say, can’t blame them they learned from the best, me. I learned from my mother how to cuss but I have to admit that as my mother aged she cleaned up her act, probably because she hung around with a better class of people. As for me I still cuss. He’s right though my hair is short in fact it is as short as Justin’s. I think Hoaray was thinking about his hair style when he cut my hair. It’s ok though, it will grow and with the weather being so hot lately I feel so much cooler. The downside is I look like a man with boobs but hey at least it’s not a faux hawk!
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