My Biggest Fear
(Posting written on second visit to Hong Kong, but never posted. Finally posting to go along with new article about recent haircut.)Oh no! It’s time! Do I really have too?
So what is your biggest fear? What are you afraid of in your daily life? And what can make a grown man tremble? What can give a big American, like me, the shakes, and to break out in a cold sweat?
Well, I couldn’t go on any longer. It was time to face my biggest fear! I had waited long enough. No matter what, I had to face it head on….. and I do mean head on. I kept telling myself, this couldn’t be so bad. It can be recovered. Couldn’t it? Wouldn’t I survive, really? No matter what, couldn’t I make it through this?
I’ve been all over the world. I’ve been up Mt. Fuji to play golf. I’ve survived the heat of Riyahd. I’ve seen the Easter fireworks show in Sydney. I have even driven over Trail Ridge Road in the Rockies (don’t want to do that again!). So why couldn’t I face this?
Anyone that has moved certainly knows this fear. Some may think of it as an adventure. I think women just enjoy it and hope that it isn’t so bad, so they have an excuse to do it again soon in a different manner.
What could make me fear so much to the depths of my shoes? I have been in China a couple of months. I had last faced this in Denver shortly before I left. I knew then that I had to do it in America before I moved on. But I couldn’t keep putting it off.
It was time to face it! I had to get……………….. a HAIRCUT! AAAgggghhhhh!!
Now, okay, some of you may think this is silly. How could I fear a haircut? Well, I guess, I can say I’m luckier than many men my age, and even a wonderful, younger nephew. But I have most of my hair. I’m not ready for the Yul Brenner look. Maybe my hair’s a little thinner, and has a little more gray than it used to. But, tell me, where do you go get a haircut when you move to a new location. That’s one of the toughest decisions. You have to pick out a supermarket to shop, a family doctor, but oh I hate having to get that first haircut.
Then think about where I am now. How many men here have graying, fine hair? To say the least, not many Chinese have hair quite like mine. A barber in Colorado even told me the barbers here had bigger scissors to cut the thick coarse black hair of the Chinese. Now didn’t that help relieve me! Yea, the barber has longer scissors. Whoopee!
So I had to do it though. The concierge at the Novotel wasn’t much help. He just said there were many shops down a nearby street. And there were. The first looked like it was from the Barbararrella set. The next was packed with people. The third wasn’t so bad, but I didn’t want to do this, so I convinced myself I didn’t liked it either. Having rounded a block, and looking into probably ten salons, I was under Me.Mi.Salon. I had seen it across from the Novotel hotel on the second floor of Stewart and Lockhart streets. No use to round another block, I figured I may as well check it out. The signage and location loocked promising. But then I had to figure out how to get to it. Into a small entryway, a gentleman was sitting on a stool at an elevator entrance. There was no elevator, and when I said “Me.Mi’s”, he pointed to the stairs and motioned me to go up. More indecision. The stairway was barely wide enough for me to go up. Having ascended around a corner in the stairway though, I was soon at a counter at Me.Mi’s. The attendant at the counter took me to a chair and was getting a smock for me when I said just haircut. With only one other person cutting hair, he said something in English to ask if I wanted a shampoo. I asked if he spoke English. He said: “no shampoo” and so I didn’t get one. I guess he thought I said: “No shampoo”. We weren’t off to a good start in communication.
After staring out a window at the intersection below for several minutes, another hairdresser showed up. I guess he was Benny. He spoke a little English, and asked if I wanted haircut. I said: “Yes, haircut, not too short.” And YES, he repeated, “Not too short”. Yes! He understood!! I sure didn’t want to get too short, if I wasn’t happy with the cut. “Not too short”, I repeated again.
And off and away started the clippers. Nothing I could do now. I was in Benny’s hands for a haircut. Not conquering my fears, but I was at least a little more comfortable, especially since he had agreed: “Not too short”.
And the cutting continued. He finished the back, and cut some of the front. Then he cut the back again, and trimmed the sides. Then he cut the back again and trimmed the neck. About the fourth pass up and down the back of my head, I was really beginning to wonder what he thought when he said “Not too short.”
Well, the haircut was okay. It certainly was a lot shorter in the back than I desired. But I guess I will survive. But I think I may find someone else next time……….. but that just means I have to go through this whole ordeal again!! AAAAggghhhhh!
posted by A Bryson (formerly) in China @ 3:27 PM
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