My First Haircut Overseas

Last night at around 7:00 PM I walked into a certain barber shop and purchased my first haircut overseas. Before I write about the experience and the finished product, I think I’ll describe the factors that led to the fateful decision of getting a haircut overseas. When a certain someone suggested that I get a haircut before I left for Jordan, I decided that, since I only had a vague idea of what I was getting myself into, I would keep my hair the way it was and arrive in Jordan with the complete assurance that I at least had my hair with me. But for the past two or three weeks now I had been seeing the consequences of my decision everyday when I looked in the mirror. Not only did I have wings growing on the sides and on the back, but I also had a shaggy mop of hair on top. Because I wanted to avoid the classic scenario of an authority figure telling a junior that he needed to fix his appearance, I started to think about taking the initiative and getting a haircut myself. It’ s also possible, though, that I only really began thinking of haircuts when I noticed a large number of my colleagues leaving for Amman or Madaba and coming back with these fantastic, stylish haircuts and hair makeovers. In particular, my male colleagues were all getting haircuts that I wanted transplanted directly onto my own head. So, when I heard one of my colleagues (teachers not junior fellows) say that he got his haircut in the Amman district that I am most familiar with, I asked him exactly where he got his haircut and exactly how much it cost him. So, last night I decided that I would finally embark on the adventure and spare myself the trouble of getting this haircut on my weekend. Finding the place really was simple enough. It really was just right down the street and to the left of seventh circle ( very close to where the bus drops faculty members off). However, I certainly encountered a few surprises once I found the place. For one thing, the shop was tiny, with only three chairs, one barber, and comfortable waiting space for about six people. Now, this is a big city with lots of barber shops, I am sure; but I was kindof hoping for a chic and stylish men’s salon. Another surprise was that the place was playing a pirated copy of the latest Vin Diesel, action-packed thriller on a TV in the top ceiling corner; this certainly did not help me feel at ease. But the biggest surprise for me was learning that the one barber working in the shop that night didn’t speak a word of English! The reason this was such a surprise for me was that most of my colleagues who were getting haircuts in Amman don’t speak a word of Arabic, this goes for the teacher who recommended this place to me in the first place. Since I had heard that men in Amman are known for being stylish and that barbers in particular think they know what’s best in terms of hair fashion, I decided trust the barber who couldn’t speak a word of English anyway. When the barber asked me (or at least I assumed he asked me) how I wanted my hair, I replied with the word, “short”. “Short?” He repeated uncertainly. “Short,” I again repeated nervously. But thinking that he might take this to mean a buzz cut I added, “not short” and covered my head with my hands in an odd attempt to communicate how I wanted my hair to look. And, with that, the barber then proceeded to make a few, very small clips to my hair. When he finished I thought that my hair looked the same and so I repeated my request again and supplemented it with a few finger-scissor motions to my hair, specifically to my wings, bangs, and sideburns. When I saw the finished product I was thrilled to see that it had come out to look, against all odds, just like a typical cut I might get in America, except for one slight feature that is. Looking in the mirror, I was pretty sure that, while my hair in front looked fine, I had what looked like a very small mullet in the back. But I decided, that since I couldn’t monitor the back of my head and that since the front looked as satisfactory as it did, that I would wait to get back on campus and ask for an opinion. When I asked the first person on campus that I ran into (a junior fellow) if she thought I had a mullet, she replied by saying that she did indeed think that I had small one but that she thought I could get it taken care of easily because I’m a guy. She also went on to say that, in her experience, many Middle Eastern barbers just don’t have a concept of cutting the hair on the back of the head. She said that even she has to insist every time she gets a cut. The second person I ran into (a faculty member) then told me that I had what people in the 70’s would call “a shag”. But since this morning, I have gotten completely unsolicited compliments on my haircut, compliments from students, who have all said that I should keep my hair the way it is, and compliments from junior fellows and colleagues who have said my hair looks great and that the back looks “fine”. But I think I’m pretty sure that I would nevertheless like a barber to clean my cut and fix the back. Hopefully this will happen soon.