August 10, 2016

my hairdressers

Through the years, I’ve had no less than a dozen hairdressers servicing my head before. I change them like how Ted Mosby would change girlfriends.

My first ever hairdresser was of course, my own mom. Mom would strip me naked in the toilet, and cut my hair as she saw fit. As style wasn’t an issue for me yet, I gave very little shit about how she’d want me to look. And I was content with that until I started schooling.

When I started primary school, mom stopped cutting my hair. She instead, sent me to the local Indian barber at the Rifle Range neighborhood – for RM 1.50 per haircut. The place had white tiles, like a fucking toilet. Indian barber would make me sit on a plank that was placed across the armrest of the old as shit barber chair, and cut my hair with a pair of mechanical hair clippers (which mom fondly referred as ‘the crab machine’).

Then when I moved away from Rifle Range, I started to patronize a ‘unisex hair salon’ outlet near my new house. The place was located next to an whorehouse, but was fucking air conditioned and was as hip as shit. The hairdressers there were chicks with cleavage, and it was a far departure from the hairy Indian barbers. They charge RM 5 a pop, including scalp massage and a hair wash. Considered expensive back then, but it was a worthy expenditure for a little style and some tits to ogle at.

About a couple years later, when I got my first bicycle, I ventured further from my home in pursuit of a cheaper haircut and better style (got bored with the ‘whorehouse hair salon’ quickly, especially when they weren’t really that good at giving haircuts). Recommended by a classmate, I found a porcine middle aged housewife who operated illegally at a low cost flat near Batu Lanchang. For just RM 3, the housewife could cater any request including the popular Aaron Kwok hairstyle (hah! try asking an Indian barber to do that, you’d get a ‘wokek’ chide).

And she was goooooood, but there was a problem. She was too popular. Her illegal hair salon was as packed as fuck. Throngs of housewives would flock to her joint every day, sometimes I had to wait for 2 hours to just get a haircut. That was why I ventured a lot of different outlets when I was around 15 – 17 years old. One of them was another illegally operated joint (I don’t know what’s with me patronizing illegally operated hairdressers…) at Macallum Street (had to take a bus there) operated by this terrifying old queer who looked like an overweight Richard Simmons. I only went there once, needless to say. Then I also patronized a hairdressing college near my tuition center. For only RM 2, you could get your hair cut by aspiring hairdressers. Plenty of hot chicks and tits, but the hair job was lousy and took forever (I was once late for my tuition).

I went hither and thither until I had my first motorcycle. My dad introduced me to his friend who started a salon, whose wife was a Thai (the hairdresser). If I had to describe her, I’d say she looked somewhat like that funny manicure/pedicure lady in Legally Blonde (but now she looks like geriatric Snorlax). My dad told me she had a degree from France or something like that, so it did a lot for her credibility then. But most of all, it was just RM 3 a pop, the cheapest haircut I could find then. As a bonus, the place was deserted most of the time, which was perfect for me. I patronized the outlet for many years (yes, it’s the same one I wrote about here), until about 2 years ago, when they increased the hair job to RM 20 a pop (through the years, it was increased from RM 3 -> RM 5 -> RM 8 -> RM 10… so on). That was when the straw broke the camel’s back, and I said – “FUCK IT! I’m going to look for a new joint!”.

That was how I ended up at this chain store of a hairdressing place inside a hypermarket. For RM 16 a pop, it was a better deal for me than Snorlax’s hair job. Operated by 2 and a half women, the place was easily accessible and high tech (they have one of those vacuum machine to clean you up). One was a young chick whom I would refer as ‘warm hands’, because she has warm hands. Like she has high viral fever. Fair skinned and common ah lian lookalike, her styling sucks. She’s my least favorite (I like her hands though). Then there’s this middle aged skinny ass lady whom I’d refer as simply ‘goddamn old aunty’ (‘si lau ee’ in hokkien). She has a talking problem. When asked for a style, she’d go technical like she’s about to write a thesis to cure herpes. She wears this goddamn belt with scissors and clippers (one of them blunt) around her waist, and would switch clipper heads stylishly like it fucking matters. Not surprisingly, her styling sucks too. The best is this tomboy with a long face (hence, the half woman). She might not be a looker, but she has great skills (she looks pale like a terminally ill tuberculosis patient). Of all 3, I like her hair job the most. Quick and nice. Tomboy would be my first choice every time I wanted a haircut there. But the problem is, it all depends on luck because of their stupid rotation system. That’s why I always have to scope around the joint before I walk in, just to double ensure that it is tomboy’s turn. I’ve had hits and misses over the months, for I’ve ended more times getting my hair cut by that ‘goddamn old aunty’ than the tomboy. And to rub salt to the wound, they’ve recently hiked the price to RM 18 a pop.

I’m gonna have to look for another joint soon.

michaelooi  | flashbacks  | 

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