Well do i have a story to tell.
😳
So needing a very urgent haircut last Monday, I go do my usual pilgimage into the deep morass of Morrocan, Albanian, Algerian, Pakistan and eastern block men's hairdressers that are now popping up all over Cape Town.
These mostly Arabic speaking Edward scissor hands specialists can wield a blade with the expertise of a skywalker jedi ninja. They also have no problem squeezing, wiping, picking, dabbing anything on your person that looks remotely krappable, squeezable or pickable.
At first its a little surprising when the hairdresser suddenly without warning turns into pim pimple popper mode, then triumphantly wipes your extracted person on the back of his hand. With a stamp of the foot, clip of the heals and a sound , i can only describe as an, "ole." The first time it happened to me, I felt it was theft but I'm now immune to the scrutiny of these master buttlers in the arts of mens care and specialised grooming.
I can only imagine if they tried that stunt on a woman!!! It's no wonder certain cultures cover themselves from head to toe. These guys who are so passionate about there trade, must find it difficult to sit back when there's a ripe ol plumb at the end of a nose, rich for the slaughter.
But even this last trip into Zekrappables lair, on main road Muizenberg, left me completely and utterly surprised.
As I walk in, my assigned hair specialist is lounging on to me, what looked like a Bazantyme type style couch. The music Is a soft eastern type vibe. and the men's hair products are nothing I recognize or have ever even seen before.
I sit on what I can only describe as an old school barbers chair. And expertly dropped over me, a black silk type sheet with a very boho beatnik bohemian bearded dude decal on the front.
The feeling of Hippy safe creeps over me, in an eastern type setting.
As I sat, I noticed the music, not unlike a snake Chalmers beat, changed ever so slightly.
The haircutting dance had now begun and i was in the midst of the seven veils. I was ready to look good and to Kathak.
Even The entire earth smelling hand, held tightly over my face and nose, to steady my head, was new. But that was tame for what was about to be unleashed on super non touching conservative ol me.
Because there was something on my person that had Been growing for 52 years without threat or fear. This was all about to dramatically change.
The cutting was spectacular, like a bull fighter with a red flag, this gentlemen trained in the fine arts of hair cutting, magically danced his magnificent hair cutting dance. I was impressed, I thought a R10 tip was now on offer. As high as i go on a R60 haircut.
Then suddenly the music changed, the chair seemingly transformed into something i can only describe as medieval sorcerory. I was tilted back and I fearfully thought he had just spotted hair on my teeth.
My hair specialist, who was speaking to another hair specialist, behind a curtain in a language I could not understand. Then Gently tilted my head back by my nose and wildly exclaimed in an authoritarian tone. "HEIR" , yes you read right, I thought I was about to inherit Sinbads gold treasure.
Well out of the corner of my eye, my specialist had now darted off and was now doing a dance with fire and an earbud. A steaming earbud that looked like it was coated in brown sugar candy floss and spider web encrusted over hot steaming brown lava.
He ran back to my arched back body and manuevred that piping hot earbud so far up my left nostril, I thought my eye was about to pop out. He then wiggled the hot goo around where only my own gentle finger had ever been before and he pinched my nose and held it. Glaring at me like a mother hen about to pull rotten teeth from the village hobos mouth.
I had absolutely no idea what the hell was going on, I was also to scared to protest. I had just seen my hair specialist slice a hair from my head , with a blade so sharp it made an origami elephant.
We sat staring at each other, me blinking and him tut tutting consolingly as he held my nose with fingers as strong as anaconda steel.
The music was reaching its crescendo, the zennith of the eastern songs Mozart cannons moment.
At an exact prescribed point in the music, the specialst ripped out the bud with such force my head jolted forward like a car crash victim. My eyes streaming with tears of pain. He then shows me proudly, the "HEIR". He then shows it behind the curtain to an exclaimed voice, that sounded like Ahab had just seen the white whale and then he indignantly throws it all into the dust bin like salt bae.
At this point he starts to pick my nose vigorously of all its remnants of wax, hair, brain and snot that had not gone with the bud. The tears are now streaming down my face. All i thought was , the voice, the voice dont sob you big little blimmen baby.
I was now starting to realise what every human knows as a simple real fact.
Good mother of pearl , i have another bloody nostril to get molested. 😳
Well he had already run off for another steaming hot bud, to load up full with the vile smelling steaming hot wax concoction.
Fortunately the second time I was braced for the entire brutal manly man experience.
In all fairness he did kindly show me my 52 years worth of nostril hair. He also dutifully showed the behind the curtain man and then he threw the harvest of hair indignantly into the bin Both times a peach. The second time, i shouted "ole" myself. Well not shouted really, whimpered it somewhere in my head. I was so mad with the bezerker fire of you can violate my nostril, but you can never take away my freedom, im not sure of the timeline. Did william wallace even have nose hair?
He then started waxing up my left ear with the steaming hot goop and by now I was as tame as a lamb.
At this point if he told me to strip, I might just of listened. The brutal rip off of the dried earwax reminded me of all the million plasters I so very carefully pulled off myself. Only this was how to do it , eastern Ferrari style.
With the pain still swimming in my head, the humiliation of another man's brutal fingers right up my nose, I smilingly got up and went to the counter to pay.
He tells me R200 , which I immediately give him. I felt the R10 tip would be now excessive, considering the joy he derived from our time together. I bid goodbye to him and the curtain voice man and I very scared shoulder toughly as you like, strode out the shop into the now glaring light.
The guy who just walked in audibly said, don't worry about waxing today, Thank you. I immediately took solice in knowing he had the same treatment once before, so he knew how to side step the newby boy violation hot wax.
I did manage to quip over my shoulder some incoherent mumble, then laughed manically at my own jumbo and then sprinted like the blue blistering blazers down muizenberg main road. the smell of traffic, sea air and eastern mosiac registering deep up my nose.
Facialy as naked as I've ever been. Chris Rea, singing, new born eyes only cry with pain , at the first look at the morning sun. Obviously Never had a hot wax earbud shoved up his nose unsolicted. That song would have been a whole lot differently penned during the creative writing process, if he had.
Well I've joined hairless anonymous, I'm coping day by day now. The crying in the shower has stopped and I have gone to the loo without my emotional support teddybear for the first time since monday.
Well the good news is I've got 52 years until my next dance with what i assume to be a sheep shearers delight.
I've now firmly decided to samson out the next 52 years. I know, I will be talked about in eastern hairdressers across the globe. But I reckon the smell of earth filled finger nostrils has an entirely different synaptic link to me now. 😳
I still wonder if being hairless in the nose, is as cool as letting it all just grows?
