I love/hate to get my hair cut. I love going into a salon, all shaggy, and coming out sleek and shiny. But I don't like the actual hair cutting process because I feel like a spotlight is on me. Well, maybe not an actual spotlight, but sitting in front of a mirror for 30 minutes, watching a stranger cut my hair, comes pretty close in my book.
Maybe the awkwardness of the experience is why people chat non-stop with their stylists. Conversation does make time fly. I wish I could pratter away with my stylist, but I only get my hair cut every two months, so I'm just not around her enough to develop a real relationship. Plus, I'm pretty shy.
Believe me, I try to make conversation. But when I need to make small talk, I compensate for my shyness by asking a lot of questions. It works pretty well in most situations, but not when I get my hair cut. I don't think stylists want to talk about themselves to a customer they don't know. They get paid to cut your hair and listen to you talk about yourself.
So after I've made my pathetic stabs at conversation--can you believe the change in the weather?--I accept my fate and start eavesdropping on other customers' conversations. Getting a glimpse into others' lives is such a guilty pleasure. The last time I got my hair cut, the woman next to me talked about redoing her living room. Then she moved on to how a relative made up with the family and they all went to Hawaii together.
Hmmm ... Hawaii .... Then she jolted me out of my daydream when she said her relative's boyfriend is Persian. "Which country are Persians from?" asked her stylist. "Eye-raq," she responded. I so wanted to correct her--Persians are from EE-ran, not Eye-raq. But then it would be obvious that I'm eavesdropping, so I kept my mouth shut, and racked my brain for another topic of conversation to try out with my stylist.
By that time, thank goodness, she started blowing my hair dry, so I didn't have to worry about conversing any more--at least not for another two months.