Faircuts Haircuts

I was not even feeling adventurous, but out of convenience, at the backstreets of Yau Ma Tei, I decided to walk into the first building that held a spinney canister for a quick haircut. This random sampling of barbershops have been done numerous times, but what separates this from the rest is in fact the place itself.

You see, the exterior, I thought, would be deceiving dirty. But is in fact no different inside. As I made it up the dusty steps, past colour-penciled images of 80's pop stars, I knew I was in trouble the second I stepped in. Four old ladies stopped playing Mahjong to serve me. None under the age of 65. It literally is someones apartment, accompanied with a kitchen, living room, and someones bedroom. The hair washing bison was covered in Mahjong pieces, and out of the entire area laid ONE barbershop chair. It was as if Sweeney Todd moved to Hong Kong.

The grandmother (possibly great grandmother), sits me down and preceeds with small talk. I wanted to talk my way out of there, but who says no to old people?

A younger looking woman then steps out of the kitchen to wash my hair. My heart was set at ease until, to my dismay, she passed me off again to the granny. I was in panic mode, telling her what I really wanted for a haircut. But judging by her age and what she considers "hip", I swear I was in for a communist square cut that I so dreaded.

If there was ever an award for the oldest barber living, she would take the cake. Her arthritic fingers trembled at every clip. Her aging vision prevented her from seeing certain angles. Her slouch forced her tiny figure to tippy toe every time the scissors reached the top of my head. It was definitely a recipe for disaster.

From there on, it was a matter of instructing an old lady at every turn, making sure she doesn't fuck it up to much. The entire process must have taken 2 hours, but I walked away content. Knowing that it's decent enough to leave my hat off.