A Haji Haircut to Remember & Direct Hit of Sorts
Greetings once again from Baghdad,
Things have settled down a bit after Zarkawi's capture and are as normal as they can be at the WTF. Haircuts are part of this normal routine, or at least I thought. It all started routinely enough. We have two options for a haircut here at Camp Victory. There is the barber shop, where a haircut runs you three dollars and then there is the "beauty shop" where you get your hair "styled" for five dollars. In an effort to break up the mundane I opted for the beauty shop. Like any other consumer minded American, I assume that if you pay more you get more. In many ways after my last haircut I definately got less. As I entered the beauty shop it started out well enough. There were sinks as far as the eye could see inside the trailer. I was also greeted by a female. I thought to myself this is going to be a much better haircut than the barber. I also do not think that it is that much to assume that a beauty shop means that your hair will be cut by a female, especially one in the shop who is ready and willing to take your money. Much to my shargin a shorter balding Arab man then appeared and motioned me to his chair. This is when things unraveled. Intsead of the shampoo that I also thought that I would be getting (it is the beauty shop afterall) it just like the barber shop cut. Instead of the soft touch of female fingers through my hair, I had man-hands bristle though my hair. What was worse was he then palmed my head, and started slapping it and in attempt to massage my scalp. I am sure that if he could have detached my head he would have shot it behind the arch. After it was all said and done, I paid the lady who I thought would be cutting my hair and hastily left. The moral of this story is you really don't get what you pay for here in Iraq. The barber shop is much better and you will not come away with chronic neck problems from a "scalp massge."
On a less distrubing note, there was milestone in fishing on Wed. Several of us decided to fish at dusk. The fish were really biting. Goldfish crackers were on the menu for bait, which we have found work pretty well. Big Jake had tested us for several days, hanging out on the surface and taunting us. He went nuts for the goldfish. He hung out a little too long on the surface. At that moment, as the sun slowly set, I rared back. Everything seemed to be slow motion. The peach left my hand in perfect form. The rotation was good and rotated off my fingers perfectly. As the peach projectiled toward the fish, I knew I had him. It was a thing of beauty. There was a half splash and half thud as the peach hit the lake and Big Jake. At that moment, all of my Arab haircut woes disappeared.
Things have settled down a bit after Zarkawi's capture and are as normal as they can be at the WTF. Haircuts are part of this normal routine, or at least I thought. It all started routinely enough. We have two options for a haircut here at Camp Victory. There is the barber shop, where a haircut runs you three dollars and then there is the "beauty shop" where you get your hair "styled" for five dollars. In an effort to break up the mundane I opted for the beauty shop. Like any other consumer minded American, I assume that if you pay more you get more. In many ways after my last haircut I definately got less. As I entered the beauty shop it started out well enough. There were sinks as far as the eye could see inside the trailer. I was also greeted by a female. I thought to myself this is going to be a much better haircut than the barber. I also do not think that it is that much to assume that a beauty shop means that your hair will be cut by a female, especially one in the shop who is ready and willing to take your money. Much to my shargin a shorter balding Arab man then appeared and motioned me to his chair. This is when things unraveled. Intsead of the shampoo that I also thought that I would be getting (it is the beauty shop afterall) it just like the barber shop cut. Instead of the soft touch of female fingers through my hair, I had man-hands bristle though my hair. What was worse was he then palmed my head, and started slapping it and in attempt to massage my scalp. I am sure that if he could have detached my head he would have shot it behind the arch. After it was all said and done, I paid the lady who I thought would be cutting my hair and hastily left. The moral of this story is you really don't get what you pay for here in Iraq. The barber shop is much better and you will not come away with chronic neck problems from a "scalp massge."
On a less distrubing note, there was milestone in fishing on Wed. Several of us decided to fish at dusk. The fish were really biting. Goldfish crackers were on the menu for bait, which we have found work pretty well. Big Jake had tested us for several days, hanging out on the surface and taunting us. He went nuts for the goldfish. He hung out a little too long on the surface. At that moment, as the sun slowly set, I rared back. Everything seemed to be slow motion. The peach left my hand in perfect form. The rotation was good and rotated off my fingers perfectly. As the peach projectiled toward the fish, I knew I had him. It was a thing of beauty. There was a half splash and half thud as the peach hit the lake and Big Jake. At that moment, all of my Arab haircut woes disappeared.
posted by PNWJAG at 11:19 PM
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