Psychological WarHair

I view haircuts as a kind of psychological warfare.

My goal when I get a haircut is to have just enough hair removed that people don’t know whether I’ve even had a haircut or not. They then start to question their very grip on reality and I win. What do I win? Not telling. Psychological warfare.

But sometimes a maverick barber steps to my head and ruins all my plans. Barbers are living monuments to my necessity to learn Japanese.

A couple of days ago I strolled into the barbershop and was ushered straight to the cutting chair. Bad sign, I thought to myself. No time to kick back and read the combination of golf and porn that passes for men’s magazines around these parts.

Nevertheless, I took the chair. The barber made a pinching motion and said “little?”

“Yes,” I agreed in perfectly Japanese-accented English. “Just a little would be great.”

Let the Wild Ride Begin.

What happened next can only be described as hair rape. I didn’t want it, but by Christ I was going to take it.

See, what I had failed to understand when the barber pinched his fingers together was that he was indicating how much hair he intended to leave on my head. My head is now cold. I look like I just joined the armed forces. But Japan doesn’t even have armed forces, so I look like I just joined a kumi taiso group (the next closest thing). My hair now looks less like psychological warfare and more like actual warfare.

I guess my katakana English just wasn’t good enough. But because I am a paranoiac, I must also consider the possibility that he understood me perfectly and did what he did as some kind of… Psychological warfare?

Well played, sneaky barber. Well played. This round goes to you.