Getting Clipped at the Baber Shop

Looking a little like the man from Borneo, scruffy with a beard, I decided a trim was needed. Last week while we were in town, my friend Andreas pointed out a barber shop he had used and now it was time to test their skills.

The sun was hotting up, surf over and nearing 9 o'clock. I swung a right down the dirt road alley, past the tuk-tuk boys pad and diverted my ride into Weligama town, the barbers place overlooked the crowded bus station right in the thick of it.

The place was small, only space for 2 hair cutting chairs, both occupied, motioned to sit in the waiting room, i declined and rather waited out side, afraid for my toes in the tight space. I watched the commotion of the bus station, on, off and away they go, it's like a bus drivers Cannonball run. As I finished my hot dog, ok yeah 1 a day its tasty after a surf. A large guy steps out of the barber shop sporting a bad hair cut. The older of the two barbers smiling points at the available seat, I made my way in,  guess he won the race to finish first and now he gets to cut the 'sutee's' hair, even if the last guy never returns.


"South Africa" i said before they asked, preempting their first question, took up the free seat and watched as they mulled it over. Unable to make eye contact, it was then in the large mirrors i notice his handy-cap, he squints, that explains the last guys bad haircut.

His english is on par with my sinhala, "Hallo", was all he said and we switched to hand signals, beard and clippers, that's all, leave the hair alone, I spelled out to him. The clippers roared into life, his smile faded into a concentrated stare and he pushed my head back, hard and jerky, it felt like I was a pig on the way to market, I closed my eyes and went with it. Jerking me this way and that, with force, he trimmed away.

Once that was over, swish out came the single razor blade, it sparkled in the morning sun, I closed my eyes as the blade slowly trans-versed the contours of my throat and Adam's apple, relax and don't breath, my thoughts. Then he slapped on a potent after shave, which sent me dizzy, the alcohol arrested my nostrils and filled my mouth with memories of times well past.

Still dazzed he began a message, rough, strong hands, pinched and pulled at my exposed face, eyes closed i tried not to laugh or cry, think this only encouraged him to use more force. I opened my eyes, wondering what would happen next, could i make the door, i caught my terrorizer pointing at my head his smile reflected in the mirror. I nodded, why stop now? He looked like he enjoyed himself, he splashed herbal oil into my hair and squashed my temples and flattened my head.

My shoulders were attacked next, wap - wap, i was being used as a human drum, he jabbed at my neck and squeezed it between his fingers. Then he forced me forward, kneed his fists into my back, then made his way along abusing my arms.

Finally he held his left arm like he'd pulled a muscle, abruptly stopped, "yes I had enough too, mate", i offered my thoughts. Together they discussed a price to charge me, even the customer in the other seat offered a few words of advice, I argued less and we haggled a little, and settled on around a $.

OK, so it does sound like a police rap sheet, but they are quiet an interesting experience if you ever get a chance to try one, just don't drink the night before!!