Haircut
It all started innocently enough. I asked Marlene, the female half of our landlord couple, if there was a peluqueria nearby. She nodded and gestured “up La Gasca.” She said there were several, one of which was owned by two “gays.” So I walked up the hill. Soon enough, I came across a “Unisex” salon de belleza. I saw a woman sitting on a chair inside, so I tentatively approached. Through the glass front of the place, I could see a small TV mounted high in the corner. She was facing the opposite way, toward the mirrors, but her head was resting on her arm. I thought maybe she was asleep. But when I tapped lightly on the glass, she whirled around quickly.
I asked if she could give me a haircut. She said, “claro!” (of course). So I sat down and she adorned me with various towels and capes. Half-jokingly, I showed her my WorldTeach id and my censo. The WorldTeach id featured a very short-haired Tim, circa July; the censo picture was taken in early October. I pointed to the short-haired Tim and said, “not this. I can do this in my house. This is too short.” Then I pointed to the other and said, “this, more or less.”
When she started, I was actually wondering if she would take enough off. But as time progressed, it was clear that she was taking “enough” off. She kinda kept taking enough off, especially from the sides. She began coming the top of my head from front to back, and just when I started thinking she would cut it and make me look more or less like my WorldTeach id again, she stopped. She added some sort of “product,” as they say, and charged me $2.50.
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