I entered the hairdressers in a state of fear and trepidation. I hadn't been in years. Literally. The last 5 years have spent in a sinusoidal wave. Wife shaves my head with clippers. Hair grows for a few months until it becomes a health hazard. Wife despairs and shaves my head again. Hair grows to an obscene length where it could potentially trip people up as I walk down the street. Wife shaves my head again, and so on.
Why break the cycle? Well for starters my wife hates shaving my head. I tend to mess about - like all men do when their partners cut their hair. "Stop that," she'll say, "leave me alone." I also have the job of cleaning up the hair which riles me beyond belief. I'd rather head down the post office on pensions day and wait for hours sweltering in a queue of elderly folk.
The two hairdressers were overweight middle-aged men who thought they were hip and trendy. Basically when it comes down to fashion there are a number of categories.
1) The fashionable.
2) Those who don't give a monkey's. Myself for example.
3) White middle-aged men who think they are it.
The bloke that cut my hair was clad in a tight red t-shirt stretched over his belly, surf shorts and flip-flops. His hair was short on top, but he had a pleated mullet. I thought those were illegal. Dumbass will be furious that I didn't take a photo and Mr Condescending will probably shed a few tears but I didn't get an opportunity. He was a frivolous babbler. Not that I could hear much of what he said, they had some RnB channel playing on an unimaginably large plasma. It nearly made my ears bleed. I did pick up some stories though.
Apparently a guy came in last week, claimed to drive a Porsche Turbo. 269mph, he said. Right, they said. Cliff Richard borrows it from time to time, he said. Right, they said. The engine starts when you do this, he said, splaying out fingers in Star Trek style.
Another guy came in with a mangy old sheepdog. The hairdresser crouched down and petted its head. "Don't go near her," said the owner, "she's a trained killer." "Oh," he replied, and asked about the guy's occupation. "If I told you that I'd have to kill you," he responded with total seriousness.
I love the fact that even though these guys were clearly nutters - they was deadly serious - they still had the awareness to go for haircuts. I think I'll go back there, just for the stories.
The "sequel" to Perdido Street Station, one of my absolute favourites, and I'm enjoying it just as much, if not more so.
The worlds and races Mieville creates are simply superb. If you've not read this series and you like "weird fiction" then please crack on and get reading.
Comments
Never go to a straight guy for a hair cut.
It is always nice to have places to go for blog-fodder.
So long as they weren't munching on apples with their mouths open while they cut your hair!!
I am a little bent you didn't get a picture of the mullet.
I think the mullet would have had me at the door in a heart beat.
You let a guy with a pleated mullet cut your hair? Dude, I think that's not smart. How did it turn out? No picture for us?
Sheepdogs don't exactly scream "killer." That fellow needs a new dog if he's going to use that line.
If this becomes your regular haircut place I think you should bring a camera from now on.
When you say she shaved your head, do you mean, like bald? Then grew it out?
Shame on you for not getting a picture of that mullet.
My friends and I make it our mission to photograph a good mullet when we see one!
What is it with salons/barber shops that MAKE people tell others things they should never, ever, ever repeat? I don't get it. It must be the chemicals they spray around in there.
I killed the last guy who said that to me.
What?
You can't be too careful. Get in first, y'know...
My mates a farmer and he's got a sheep dog. He asked him the other day to go into the field and count the sheep. When he came back my mate says "how many" and the dog replies "forty". "Wow" my mate says, "I thought I only had thirty nine". "You have" said the dog "but I rounded them up".
Eh, you've seen one mullet...you've seen um' all.
Now, this killer sheepdog...a pic of that might have been worth something.
The owner of the barbers in my village sold cocaine from his upstairs office. No lie, he did a runner after a while and was on the Crimewatch TV show. I worked in a wine shop opposite and we had a van driver who'd make deliveries for us. One time he was sitting in the van marking off his inventory sheet when the barbers all came out and tried to beat him up because they thought he was spying on them.
Can you give me the address of your barbers? I need a trim and, by the sound of it, I wouldn't seem out of place...
i pretty sure that those that still say the "if i tell you...kill you" line still live at home and work somewhere like a comic store. or the car wash.
How could you see a pleated mullet and not take a picture for us? How?
A killer sheepdog? Is there such a thing?
My car starts when I fold my arms and blink just so.
I've seen mullets....but a pleated mullet? Must be the newest trend. It seem like barbering isn't quite like it used to be. You could've gone to a stylist and had him/her loudly chew gum in your ear.
I heard of an old lady who sheared her sheep dog when the hair got too long and knitted a lovely sweater. *scratches because sweater is itchy*
Sounds like you found your niche. How did the haircut come out?
I knew a guy who drove a car that could only start if the driver gave a female passenger the reach around.
I thought you meants that the hairdressers were nutters and I was wondering why you'd go there for our haircut! :D
It's people like that, that makes this world livable. My son starts my car.
Next time make sure to go with your camera. Tell the pleated mullet guy that his tip is having his picture put on your famous celebrity blog. When he asks who you are, say "if I told you, I'd have to kill you".
Wait, you silly Europeans don't tip, do you?
Hairdressers are always good for a story!! My hairdresser usually has some sort of crisis in her life that she needs everyones opinion on how to solve.
Usually it involves her kids.
I can't even picture a pleated mullet, but I love the stories from customers, so please keep going and don't forget your camera!
Dude, I second whoever said "You let a guy with a pleated mullet cut your hair?" What was wrong with your wife's head-shaving? She wasn't criminally insane enough for you? Oh, right. It's the sheepdog thing, isn't it.
xo
how does a mullet become pleated?
is that a Brit thing?
Well, if they hadn't been aware enough to still get a haircut, they would have been truly insane...perhaps they are nutty in the right amount: amusing without being truly dangerous...
Mo I can't believe you couldn't get a pic of that!
You did however paint a burning visual that almost made me cry. I'm also going to assume he had eyeliner on and a lisp.
You are a brave man going in those places. Since you don't have trailers there, I assumed there were no mullets, I'm now more willing to capture the essence of international white trash
My brain hurts from trying to imagine what a pleated mullet looks like.
A pleated mullet? Outside of my beloved Mulletville? I must see a photo!
See what you've been missing!
And I want to see your hair!
Silly hair is good blog-fodder. Seems like you've got to get a pic though.
oh yeah, now that was good.
You need to come to a women's haridressers. You will know all there is to know about everyone in your neighbourhood by the time they're done with the shampoo.
How do you know that the individual with the killer sheepdog wasn't really on her Majesty's secret service? It's a very good cover, in my opinion. Would you think that an obviously delusional individual with a sheepdog having a haircut could be a British secret agent? I thought not.
In case my last comment caused any confusion, I meant that it was the delusional individual/undercover agent who was having the haircut, not the sheepdog.
lmao. that is half the fun of being in a salon.
How'd your haircut turn out?
I would think that the minute you got sight of the hairstylist's mullet you would have turned tail and run.
Unless....? Please don't tell me you got a mullet.
What is it with men wanting their wives to shave their heads, BTW? For a while my husband was going on about buying a razor and having me shave his head regularly. He saw it as a real bonding experience.
I do love him, but I'm not interested in shaving his head. My lack of enthusiasm finally clicked and now he goes to a Supercuts in the Valley where for $15 he gets shaved by a blowsy yet sexy Russian immigrant he can flirt with.
The owner of the barbers in my village sold cocaine from his upstairs office.
My favorite hairstylist in the entire world ended up becoming a junkie. So sad.
i could only wish the salon i frequent had stories like this, I get sick of hearing who's doing who's husband in so and so's car at lunch... it bores me. :)
Mo ... is this your subtle way of telling us you have a pleated mullet? It's ok, you can tell us ... we won't laugh too hard :)
I think I might run the other way were my hairdresser to have a mullet...but then again, I had a mullet in the 80s...did I just say that out loud?
Oh my goodness. *pleated mullet*.
Finally stopping by from Braja and Pseudo and a host of other people we have in common in blogland.
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