Yes, the time arrived. I came to realise that I needed a haircut because I would wake up in the morning, have my shower (which in itself baffles my neighbours... they can hear the sound of the shower (thin-walled apartment block) and Japanese people do NOT have showers in the morning! they have a bath at night... so an altogether baffling concept for them)...anyway, i would have my shower and then get dressed for work and try to do something about the mop I call "hair". I had it cut a few months ago, and at that time, all I had to do was work in a small amount of wax/"product" and hey presto...the perfect shaggy rough-edged look (and if you knew me well enough, you would know that this in itself is laughable! I am far from shaggy or rough-edged... though i do try...). However yesterday i woke up and went through the usual routine, only to find that no matter how much "product" I threw at my mop, it made not difference... it just became a sticky mop. Well, to be honest, it had been like this for a couple of weeks, and I had just turned a blind eye and hoped that it would cut itself... but alas. So, I vowed to go to bed that night with shorter hair. I texted my mate Toru, and he booked us both into some place in Mineyama town (a 15-20 minute drive from here).The booking was for 7.30pm. Great! Went to work yesterday with a feeling of relief, and accomplishment... I WAS GETTING MY HAIR CUT... yes, no more procrastinating, the booking had been MADE! As the day progressed... this positive feeling was replace with butterflies in my stomach, fear, panic, worry. Why? Well, there is a certain degree of horror and fear associated with getting your hair cut in the Japanese wop-wops. A quick glance at the hair of the local population validates this. Haircuts (male haircuts) range from the skin-head look, to the overgrown skin-head look, to the bowl cut, and my personal favourite: the "my mum cut my hair and made a mistake right here... and here... and here too... oh and here..." look. This final look is usually accessorised with a hat. now don't get me wrong, the skin-head look, and the overgrown skin-head look REALLY does suit the Japanese. They look cool and sporty. I, however, would look ridiculous. It was with this in mind that I suddenly grew afraid of my approaching appointment. Well, cutting the story shorter the time came. We drove over to Mineyama and then my heart skipped a beat. We had arrived. Walked up the staircase (felt like walking the plank) and went in. The place fell silent. Tumble weed might as well have rolled past, and the music might as well have stopped with a squeal! All faces, staff and customers turned and stared... they stared at me, the white thing that just walked through the door. There was a look of panic. Now, let's just pause here for a moment... FREEZE FRAME!!!!!!!!!!!! ...so, recall that I am in fear, wishing I had worn armpit sweat pads... in fear of a bad haircut... and I look in the eyes of the man holding scissors, who is about to cut my hair, and I see every inch of my panic reflected in his eyes! NOT reassuring!! So, what felt like a lifetime of staring ended in a few seconds, and we were invited to take a seat and fill in forms! FORMS!!!! for a bloody haircut! Now this is where the panic rating sky rocketed off the scale! the form started off fine: 1. NAME...actually, that is where normality left the room. 2.DATE OF BIRTH... Ok, I though, perhaps this is a marketing issue... I can handle that. 3. ADDRESS... Hmmm.... not so usual... but I wrote it down anyway, but no house number. next question 4. PHONE NUMBER... completely unnecessary, so I wrote down a fake number. 5. (and this was the cruncher...)BLOODTYPE... well, that made me really wonder if i needed a haircut afterall. I mean, people happily went without haircuts in the 70s, so it CAN be done... 6. HOW DID YOU COME HERE 7. HOW DID YOU HEAR ABOUT US? 8. WHAT IS YOUR OCCUPATION and so on. Well, after Toru had calmed me down over the whole "Blood type" thing, I was invited to look through some magazines and find the style I wanted. I had already clearly stated how I wanted my hair cut, but the guy was adamant that I had to point to a picture to confirm what i had said (which I suppose is a good thing on his part). So, I pointed to some shiny model guy in an expensive suit, standing at a train station, looking at his watch. His hair was, of course, nothing like mine, but it was the closest to what I was after that I could find (the magazine was full of ourtrageous haircuts). First, I was escorted to "the chair" to have my hair washed. In NZ, the shampoo chair is a reclined number, rather awkward to get into, but on the right angle for the shampooer. In Japan, this is like a dentist chair. It looks like an innocent, black leather chair, but once you are seated and lulled into a false sense of security, the chair makes that robotic "nnnnnnn" sound and starts reclining. I found this a bit unnerving, because i was remined of drills, cotton wool and all manner of shiny metallic instruments being shoved into my mouth. THEN, when fully "reclined" the shaggy-yet-effeminate guy looming over me started chatting generic chat, and then placed a white paper sheet over my face! Heart rate accelerated. I was trapped. The water started "is that too hot?" No, it's fine...(tried to make that sound convincing...) So, after the shampoo (and all the while I was trying not to blow the paper off my face with my breath!) the chair went "nnnnnnn" and moved back into its upright position. I was taken "the OTHER chair" where I was dressed in an old halloween ghost costume... i think it was acually more of an oversized bib/smock... you know the kind they use at hairdressers everywhere... and my "hair technician" put down his style magazine and descended from his lofty couch, thanked the shaggy-yet-effeminate shampooer and began his creation, which, unfortunately, happened to be attached to my head. He was chatty too. "So," snip-snip "what brings you to Japan?" snip "Oh, so you like hamburgers?" snip-snip... "Really?" snip-spray "Sheep, you say?" snippidy- snippidy and so it went. This part was rather normal, and was not too stressful. Then he finished his masterpiece, and I thought I could go... but unfortunately the only place I was going was back to the dreaded SHAMPOO CHAIR!!! It was aparently time for my second shampooing. This was not too scary, since I had done it earlier and knew what to expect, and besides, not only do they shampoo your hair, but they massage your head too! That aint too bad! So, I sat myself down on the dentist chair, and waited for the "nnnnnnnnn"... but instead, I heard a woman's voice. "You have such beautiful eyes!"... "Oh, thanks" I replied "blue eyes are fairly common in New Zealand, nothing special at all". It appears Shaggy-effeminate guy was shampooer number one, and shampooer number two was Giggly girl. So, she giggled and the chair went "nnnnn" and all seemed strangely familiar. She put the nightmare white paper sheet over my face and just as I was expecting the water to start, she pulled the sheet down a bit revealing my eyes! Wow, I thought, she must REALLY like my eyes! then she told me to close my eyes and "sleeping-sleeping" (she threw that bit of english in there). So just as I was closing my eyes i noticed something metalic head towards my eyes, I opened in a panic to find scissors headed right for me! "Are you afraid?" she asked me. "Yes" I proclaimed, "what are you doing?" Oh, I am just going to trim your eyebrows" she said in a voice as plain as day. "You what?" I gasped. "Eyebrows?" she panicked, and tried out some more english: "er... eye hair?", "yes, I understand 'eyebrows' but why are you going to cut them?" She seemed confused..."Don't you get your eyebrows cut in NZ?"... "NO! men don't" I said. This was like a revelation to her. "Aaaaaah... sooooo desu ka???.....ja....rerakusu ne!" (just relax)... snip brush brush snip brush snip snip... I was trying not to move or breathe or tremble in fear. It was strange. I honestly don't think I even notice the difference, but hey, it was done, and I survived. Then she shampooed and giggled her way through more conversation, and then it was back to the master chair for a second cut and styling. The whole process took about 40 minutes or so, and when he asked if he could put some "product" in my hair, I said yes. he showed me how to use it, as if we don't have "product" in NZ, and then he started his artistic magic. I looked up into the mirror and was horrified to see the Pet Shop Boys styling he had given me! "oh, you look so cool, so manly, so hot" cried everyone in the "studio". I swallowed my pride and nodded in thanks. Paid, recieved three business cards, a thousand bows, and a handshake from the lofty master craftsman. Toru and I headed to the car. Once out of sight, I did the "scruff it up and make it more ME" thing I always do after a haircut. It worked. I actually really like my new haircut, just so long as I am working the "product"... Oh, the bell has rung for lunch... I must go eat.