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At the Barbershop
My barbershop, or "salon" as they would have it, is like a city apart from Shanghai. It's very clean, it smells nice, the people inside are really stylish and hip and the music blaring from speakers is something out of a Vegas night club. Now while I'm not gay, if any of my American friends or family happened to walk into the salon at any moment during my haircut, they might think I was gay. I'll explain why. In Asia, the haircut is so much more than just a haircut. It's a whole upper body experience-- half haircut, half massage. Unfortunately for me, at my barbershop the employees are all guys. So the first guy to get me is the equivalent of a hygienist at a dentist's office. He does all the dirty work before the dentist, or in this case the barber, gets to me. I call this guy the hair-wash boy. These apprentices all pretty much have blond highlights in their hair and spend their days massaging men. So first the hair-wash in the chair which lasts about 25 minutes including the head massage. Then I'm escorted to the "other room" for a rinse. Back to the chair for a shoulder rub and an ear cleaning. Then arm massage, then tea and then ready for the barber. Pretty good time. Might be better for me if these were women, but nonetheless. You learn to make such concessions in China.
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So I'm at this exact stage of the experience earlier this week, having said goodbye to my hair-wash boy, I'm sitting in the chair with a silly Loreal smock on waiting for my barber. Now interestingly, the barbers do not look nearly as effeminate as the hair-wash boys. They're just normal young Chinese dudes who dress a little Japanese-fabulous or "Jap-Fab". Chinese hipsters. They carry a silver briefcase with their cutting supplies and frankly, it is nice to see them after 15 minutes of gay massage. So anyway, this guy starts cutting my hair and like I said earlier, the music in this place is on full blast. And this is some serious dance music. Lots of remixes. I've heard "With or Without You" and "Time After Time" over some powerful beats. It's the type of music you imagine yourself dancing the night away to if you were the type of person to dance the night away. So I'm watching myself in the mirror getting my hair cut and all of a sudden, the song that has been playing seamlessly blends into a trancy new beat. I am the only person in the place who speaks a lick of English. As any good dance song, there's about a minute and a half of lead-in before any lyrics. First drums, then bass, then some keyboards or whatever and here come the lyrics. And the first words of the song, as loud as ever, were "DON'T WANT NO SHORT DICK MAN, DON'T WANT NO SHORT DICK MAN, DON'T WANT NO SHORT DICK MAN" over and over, again and again. Immediately, I bust out laughing. Mind you, with a pair of scissors at my temple. The barber had to stop cutting my hair as I tried to gather myself. I looked around. And since nobody spoke a word of English, nobody got what was so funny. I prayed the song would change course, but nope. Five minutes straight of the same line. I kept pointing to the speaker trying to explain myself. And then I finally gathered myself, the ol' hair-wash boy came over to brush some small hairs off my brow, and the barber continued cutting my hair.