Hair Cut

20 April 2013

The big day and I went to have my hair cut.

It took me almost all my life to understand that the only way to get a good haircut is to ask someone with a hair cut I like, and who is working close to where I live, where they got their hair cut.

When I first came to Italy I did it all wrong. I would walk down a street and try out the hairdresser close to where I lived. I was mostly very disappointed.

I have been living in Friuli-Venezia Giulia since June, I had seen the waitress at the bar with a good haircut and she had told me about 'Fashion Time' in that same month, but it took me until today to get there.

The owner of the salon was the woman who had hung up on me (twice) when I had attempted to call for an appointment. She did not mention this while she was washing my hair, or discussing the design of my head. It was not until she had almost finished that she said, "It was you I hung up on." Yes! "My fault that I did not understand you," she said.

She explained, "The call centers phone at least five times a day and I don't have time to listen to them while I'm working."

So I said I also hang up on cold callers, which is not true because I usually listen to the callers and then tell them they must not waste their time on me and to hurry up and put the phone down because there is someone out there who will want to talk to them.

At the salon, looking in the mirror, I was forced to notice my broken front tooth. During the winter, in a fit of impatience, I used my front teeth to pull off a glove when I was suddenly moved  to photograph a mountain. Mountains are not usually known for their speed, and this one was in no hurry. I am certain that I could have taken my time to take my gloves off properly using my hands, and the mountain would have waited patiently until I had aimed my camera. But there it is now, my left front tooth is slightly shorter than my right and now I try to talk and smile without opening my mouth.

When I did look out the window at the salon, turning my head slightly to the left, I was surprised to find a wide view of the piazza down below. In the distance,  tucked between the buildings surrounding the town square I saw an old, grey church with what I suppose is called a rose window.  I have never seen this church before, now I must visit the next time I go into Maniago.

Pleased with my newly designed head, I walked by the bar to say thank you to the waitress with the fine haircut. Stern faced she walked towards me. I said, "I went for a hair cut," she did not recognize me. I walked on. Something made me turn around and there she was laughing, "I remember you!" Well, it was ten months ago she'd advised me where to go for a trim.


Tomorrow leaning to drive a pair of horses and cart.