The alarm went off like a bomb; with fair amount of resentment, I reached over and slammed on the snooze button and went into deep sleep again. Waking up from a dream, I yelled, "Shit! It's already 7:00am!" I jumped out of bed and rushed to get ready for my early morning ortho appointment. It's still dark outside; I was still half asleep harping over the fading details of a disturbing dream I had.
Sitting in a reclining dental chair, I began to feel better about the day ahead of me. Every visit to the doctor's office is getting me closer to the day when my teeth will be finally freed from braces and straight after 30 some years; and I long for the moment when I can put my front teeth to use again on corn cobs heartily.
Lying down in the chair, I always choose to keep my eyes shut and move my mouth as told. The thought of having my eyes open watching the doctor's hands moving makes me uneasy. I'd rather pretend to be a mechanical part during my time in the dental chair than making my presence visible. All the wire-tightening, drilling and shaving makes talking literally impossible, which, to me, is a blessing in disguise.
I consider my experience in a dental chair much more pleasant than that in a hair-stylist chair. After work, I went to Gary Manuel Phase 3 for a hair cut. My favorite hair dresser was not there. I had to put myself in a stranger's chair yet again. This - getting a hair cut in a chair - must be one of those experiences so mundane that most people don't even think about it. For me, it, somehow, is one of the most self-conscious personal care services that I dread. Why? I don't know. It's pathetically bizarre how my mind works when sitting in a chair getting a haircut.
I agonize over many things that seem so trivial: what conversation topics do I have to initiate? What if it turns out that I don't like the haircut? What if she tries to sell me hair care products? What is an appropriate tip? How long do I have to stare at myself, her and people around me in the mirror? These stupid and frivolous questions torment me.
I can count the number of times that I've been to a hairstylist - average about 3 times a year - since I was 18 years old. Before that, my existence was so minuscule that I didn't even get to go to a saloon - a hair cut by our neighbour, or my father, or a friend - I didn't have to sit in a chair and examine myself painfully in a mirror for an hour or two. After I started going to hair saloons, I remember how painful it was to sit in front of a mirror, looking nervous and out of place; worse than that, I somehow would always end up with a running nose every time when I sat in a chair getting a haircut.
For the first time, I confront myself with these absurd fears associated with sitting in a chair getting a haircut. The bizarre thing is that I feel totally comfortable being scrubbed like a baby, lying on a bed without a stitch in a Korean Spa: there is no mirror, no small talk, just pure hard scrubbing. It's actually quite a cathartic experience - physically feeling a layer of dead skins coming off!
P.S. Here is a link to a brief history of hair. It seems that people in ancient times, or even as late as the 19th century, have put much more emphasis on braiding hair, decorative hairpieces, wigs or hats. Women's modern day hair-cutting grew out of the need to be more efficient around house chores. After women won their rights to vote, and began actively participate in social, political and economic activities, the hair styles began to become more casual and free-spirited.
Sitting in a reclining dental chair, I began to feel better about the day ahead of me. Every visit to the doctor's office is getting me closer to the day when my teeth will be finally freed from braces and straight after 30 some years; and I long for the moment when I can put my front teeth to use again on corn cobs heartily.
Lying down in the chair, I always choose to keep my eyes shut and move my mouth as told. The thought of having my eyes open watching the doctor's hands moving makes me uneasy. I'd rather pretend to be a mechanical part during my time in the dental chair than making my presence visible. All the wire-tightening, drilling and shaving makes talking literally impossible, which, to me, is a blessing in disguise.
I consider my experience in a dental chair much more pleasant than that in a hair-stylist chair. After work, I went to Gary Manuel Phase 3 for a hair cut. My favorite hair dresser was not there. I had to put myself in a stranger's chair yet again. This - getting a hair cut in a chair - must be one of those experiences so mundane that most people don't even think about it. For me, it, somehow, is one of the most self-conscious personal care services that I dread. Why? I don't know. It's pathetically bizarre how my mind works when sitting in a chair getting a haircut.I agonize over many things that seem so trivial: what conversation topics do I have to initiate? What if it turns out that I don't like the haircut? What if she tries to sell me hair care products? What is an appropriate tip? How long do I have to stare at myself, her and people around me in the mirror? These stupid and frivolous questions torment me.
I can count the number of times that I've been to a hairstylist - average about 3 times a year - since I was 18 years old. Before that, my existence was so minuscule that I didn't even get to go to a saloon - a hair cut by our neighbour, or my father, or a friend - I didn't have to sit in a chair and examine myself painfully in a mirror for an hour or two. After I started going to hair saloons, I remember how painful it was to sit in front of a mirror, looking nervous and out of place; worse than that, I somehow would always end up with a running nose every time when I sat in a chair getting a haircut.
For the first time, I confront myself with these absurd fears associated with sitting in a chair getting a haircut. The bizarre thing is that I feel totally comfortable being scrubbed like a baby, lying on a bed without a stitch in a Korean Spa: there is no mirror, no small talk, just pure hard scrubbing. It's actually quite a cathartic experience - physically feeling a layer of dead skins coming off!
P.S. Here is a link to a brief history of hair. It seems that people in ancient times, or even as late as the 19th century, have put much more emphasis on braiding hair, decorative hairpieces, wigs or hats. Women's modern day hair-cutting grew out of the need to be more efficient around house chores. After women won their rights to vote, and began actively participate in social, political and economic activities, the hair styles began to become more casual and free-spirited.
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