Saturday, July 23, 2011

The pariah

La Passion de Jeanne d’Arc (1928)

The hairdresser clicked-off the shaver, squinted her eyes and leaned into my scalp. Her previous expression of glazed indifference morphed into one of patent disgust - her lips curling as she announced with a voice loud enough to fill the salon “You have...lice!

The shaver dropped from her limp hand and fell to the floor, breaking into several pieces. As she backed slowly away from my chair, I blushed bright crimson under the glare of the eco-friendly bulbs. Why do they always make these places so bright?

Humiliated, pinned into an elevated chair and strapped down by an itchy nylon sheet (the heat under which seemed to be fuelling my redness) I knew at that moment - as the withering expressions of the other clients met mine in the reflection - that I would forever be a pariah in the hairdressing salons of this most unforgiving of cities. As I gawked up at my reflection - hair half-shaved - I not only felt like some kind of tortured Joan of Arc figure, I now looked like one.

It was a nightmare scenario that I was playing over and over in my head ever since I observed W combing through G’s hair, chimpanzee-like. He extracted a particularly large one, raising the beast between thumb and forefinger like a prize.



Anonymous said...

Olá Luke,

rsrsrsrsrsrsrsrs ( risos longos )... adoro esse seu tipo de humor, em tornar uma situação constrangedora em algo muito divertido, a perfeição na descrição dos detalhes é incrivel ... foi inevitável não rir muito !! .

Esse sábado nublado ficou mais feliz para mim, ao ler seu "martírio" no salão de cabelereiro...rsrsrsrsrsrsrsrsrsrsr ..

Ops: acho que ( além de mim), alguém mais está rindo disso, na foto principal do blog...rsrsrs


Luke said...

Isso é verdade. Há três novos "chegadas". Vou escrever algo sobre eles em breve...

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