Evening Entertainment

Just when I though life was becoming a bit mundane.  No problems, no dramas, just work in another city, I went to the hairdresser.

Thankfully my short, rather wayward hair does not require much attention and having had it cropped to within an inch of my scalp before I left the UK it has survived swimming and motorbike helmets.  But it has grown and was needing a little attention in the colour department.  The humitiy makes it curl even more than usual and I did feel I was begining to look like a rather scruffy poodle.

But where to go?  Blond and curly is a far cry from straight, long and black!  Even my new Vietnamese friends said the only place to trust was Toni and Guy.  Yes, here in Saigon.  They have a salon.  And it has not changed its price plan to match that of the the city.  In fact it was probably one of the most expensive haircuts I have had. Ever.  But then for entertainment value it was streets ahead.

Negotiation on price is something I am kind of getting used to here.  I was given a price over the phone and took the required amount of cash.  Cash because, well it is the most acceptable form of payment here and since I have been in the city  I have had my UK debit card used on a phishing site, had it eaten by a ATM and most recently, had my Amazon account hacked and had to have my credit card cancelled.  My Vietnamese plastic can only be used to withdraw cash.   UK cards now stay safely in my apartment.

I had forgotten about tax, and the price I was quoted did not include washing and cutting?  Problem. On revealing my limited funds, an equivalent discount was applied.  Price agreed there I was, for three and a half hours!

My ‘stylist’ inadvertently or not, added his own touch of drama to the occasion.  He and his assistant added ‘the foils’ with diligence, care and much deliberation.  Occasional third opinions were sort, I was the only customer for most of my visit.  An hour and a half later the process was complete, by which time the first foils were ready for removal, but not the latter.

I was led to the wash basins.  Having exhausted Social Media and email I was glad of a change of scene.  No sitting and tipping back your head here.  A full length couch to lay on.  First foils duly removed.  Did I want a magazine to read?   How long were they going to leave me there?

Another half hour.  Then it took two people to wash and massage my head with cutting the final flourish.  Imagine the most melodramatic sitcom stylist.   Arms and scissors widely waved.  Each cut admired and pondered over. Drama at its best.

The final touch.  I was photographed. Each side, front and back.  Thankfully I was not asked for my Facebook address so I won’t be ‘tagged’ – if they photos ever appear!