Last time I had "____"

Last time I had haircut

Fine hair makes fine people. Of course some people, the opposite are true; their faces themselves are luxurious decorators. For me, unfortunately, the words apply straightly. That is why, perhaps, I care so much about my hair style. So every single time I cut my hair, usually semi-monthly, going to beauty parlor always feels fresh and new. Last time I cut my hair, however, was a bit special experience.

It was Sunday afternoon, and my AP literature class was over. I had to go back to the school because it was the final day of the winter vacation. Because of SAT-urday test that I had to finish, I had no time to cut my hair. Jagged hair made me looked like Jean Valjean; not an image of Hugh Jackman but an image of a vagabond. So I and my mother both agreed to go to a beauty parlor someday after the test, and last day of vacation was that day.

I wish I had a haircut in a place where I usually go and have my haircut. But it was total waste of time go back to my house and have a haircut and go to my school in The Kingdom of Far Far Away. Fortunately, there was beauty parlor on the same floor that I was in. The place looked really luxurious and modern that was really out of my league. The usual repertoire of the hairdresser “What did you have in mind?” was so much of a burden to me in that place. “Just… neat… as you will…?” was my stupid timid answer.

The next tool the hairdresser picked up was something that I didn’t expect: electric clipper. My intuition warned me, but I tried to convince myself that I’m watching Michelangelo carving Davide di Donatello. I refrained myself from asking “Can you really make my hair look good with that?” After two hours of making the masterpiece, there was a military guy in front of me. He looked sincere, but little sad. I don’t know if the hairdresser recognized my feeling, he kept carving my hair. I tried my best until then to respect him, not to say “I don’t like it”. It was really hard, however. The fact that it took an hour and a half to have this kind of result was something that I could not withstand. “Can you please finish your sculpting?”, I clearly remember the hairdresser’s baffled face. I just wore my cap right after the haircut.

I was like an angry bull until I went back to the car. I put my cap off and tried to make my hair look good. Because I felt so shameful that I was angry for just a haircut, I pretended to be angry about it. As time passed, however, feeling of uneasiness about my life first time being rude in the beauty parlor which would have been really a pierce remark for my dear Michelangelo kept hover inside my mind. Even right now, writing this rite of conciliation, I feel sorry for him. I should have been more prudent. At that time, I tried to respect him and the way to respect him was not to say “I don’t like the way you cut my hair” And just sit quietly. Now, I knew my way of respecting him was wrong, which clearly offended both him and me. Now I know that silence and restraining myself from expressing my inner feeling to others are clearly not a way to respect them.

I always hesitate about giving personal remarks to other people because I respect their feeling, and thought I was the one who truly is respecting others. This was, however, the one incident really made me felt lethargic about my immatureness. Though it might look little over-interpreting the situation, for me, it once again made me to contemplate about my way of respecting other people.