Saturday, 1 September 2012
How hard can it be...
I had just reached the point this week where I felt that the only way I could appear in public would be to wear a paper bag over my head. I have been procrastinating for weeks about getting my hair cut. I was attempting to grow it but frankly it was a mess.
On Thursday I phoned Ferdi in Gumbet who had cut my hair really well last year. I made an appointment for 11am yesterday. Ferdi knows where I live. He knows it takes me an hour and a half and three buses to get to him.
I arrived on time to find no sign of him, just his wife doing a pedicure. She welcomed me and told me to take a seat. I waited about 10 minutes and then asked her when Ferdi would be arriving. She informed me that he wouldn't be coming in as he had a bad back. OK. I can sympathise of course, but he has my number. Why couldn't he have phoned or asked his wife to call me to save a wasted journey?
On the positive side, it wasn't a complete waste of time, because I then decided to get the bus to Yalikavak and visit Mr A at the hotel. We had lunch together, then he was able to take a few hours off. We grabbed some shopping and then he took me home. He stayed for half an hour for a coffee and then went back to work. I have seen so little of him for weeks and even though this time together wasn't ideal, it was better than nothing.
Determined to avoid the paper bag, I set off to Milas today to find another hairdresser. I have been having haircuts by Atila on and off since we moved here three and a half years ago. He's very cheap but unpredictable. It depends on his mood on a particular day as to whether you will get a good cut or a bad one, so it's a risk.
I arrived at Atila's salon to find it boarded up...clearly he has had too many "off" days and gone out of business.
I tried two more salons. The first was very busy (a good sign) but they couldn't fit me in so I took their card to ring later for an appointment. The second one was where my friend Gwen had her hair cut on one of her visits to me and I remember it being quite good. The guy who cut her hair had since moved on. The salon was empty and there was just one female stylist who looked very frumpy and miserable and something told me not to bother.
By this time I had almost given up and was on my way to the bus station when I came across a newly opened salon. It didn't seem too busy so in desperation I entered and sure enough there was someone available to cut my hair.
It's OK. It's not brilliant but it's not bad. Although the fact that the stylist cut his finger on his scissors during the first 2 minutes didn't inspire confidence. It isn't exactly how I wanted it but I can dispense with the paper bag for the time being. And I just tell myself, as I often do after a slightly disappointing haircut, "It will grow and then I can search for another hairdresser".