“Your going to stick that where exactly?”

“Your going to stick that where exactly?”

This is the though racing through my mind as the man approaches with a flaming taper aimed at my head. Being attacked on the street, in the middle of a riot, some bizarre initiation ceremony?. No I am just having a haircut. The place I am in is a neat modern salon in the middle of a shopping precinct which only adds to my concern.

About this time I am thinking why I balked at the $78 the other place wanted and maybe it wasn’t that expensive. This one will only be $21 still steep for a trim but best price to result ratio I have found so whatever he is up to it still leaves me over 50 bucks up.

I needed to find a new place as the one I had managed to become familiar with has shut down for a while whilst they dig up the road outside the salon. The notice said 2 weeks but that was 6 weeks ago and I am not sure there is actually anyone down the huge open pit they have dug outside. It is taking up half the street so whatever the problem is it will not be fixed anytime soon.

Back to my arsonist I am not even sure why I am asking the hairdresser this question as he is Turkish and does not speak Engliski I know this as I was leafing through his Turkish to Russian dictionary which was alongside the magazines out on the coffee table.

We had managed to communicate to one another and agree that I wanted a haircut which given where I am in was not a particularly arduous task.  Beyond this there is little interaction and the rest of the staff are busy surfing the net on the Pc they are using as a register and as such are unavailable for comment.

Whilst not exactly looking the part the guy seemed competent up to now. He is short with black curly hair and a mustache which is far too big for his face, swarthy would be a good description and if you saw him in the street you would not have placed him as a barber and if he had that flaming taper in his hand you would just cross the street. He was capable with the scissors and comfortable with the electric razor as well. The cut actually looks fine (but you know the difference between bad and good is two weeks) and he seems relaxed even if he has a burning torch in his hand.

He is about to singe my hair. This is the official definition Date: before 12th century : to burn superficially or lightly scorch; especially : to remove the hair, down, or fuzz from usually by passing rapidly over a flame.

Now the smell of burn hair is no stranger to me give my prolonged smoking habit. Most of the time though it is accidental and I have seen several people restyle their “barnet” via this method removing eyebrows and fringes. In extreme cases bits of clothing as well.

This guy obviously thinks this process is normal so who am I to challenge his routine. He seemed to know what he was doing even the bored receptionist stopped texting to watch although she may have been more worried about the smoke alarm than me. I have to say when he was waving it around and in my ears it made me slightly uncomfortable but in the end it was fine. The smell of burnt hair was a small concern but just to make sure he had put me out properly they shampooed my hair again. A good job really as I can imagine walking home with people sniffing the air as I passed wondering what was going on.

So one more experience to color my life.