Of course, I was assigned the one barber who couldn't speak English, so I communicated as best I could by using Google Translate on my phone to get my wishes known: medium cut, not too short, parted on the left, trim the beard, not too short either, shave the hair in my ears, shave my neck.
Forty minutes into my haircut, eyes closed as I always have them when getting my hair trimmed, mind drifting toward pleasant thoughts of sublime moments, I suddenly felt a blast of scorching heat in my ear. In a flash, my eyes opened as wide a saucers to witness my barber waving a stick of burning flame inside my left ear.
When someone sets your ear on fire unexpectedly, there's not much to do, except hope the damage isn't permanent. One thing I did do, was notice that the aroma of burning ear hair is not a scent that inspires gladness or nostalgia for anything at all. Although the surprise had diminished by the time my barber set my right ear ablaze, a small sense of horror remained, the kind of fear possibly experienced by early Neanderthal tenders of fire, when they realized they had something slightly frightening at their disposal.
It turns out that my barber was not a sadistic sort, but instead was engaging in a practice that began in Turkey hundreds of years ago called singeing. Turkish barbers, for various antiquated reasons, used fire to cut people's hair. And over time, the practice remained in place for removing hair from sensitive places like ears that can bleed like geysers when accidentally cut.
After I left Mr. Nice, still smelling a bit charred and smoky, I considered the peculiarities of men and their hair. Whatever enterprising chemist figures out the chemical process that suddenly causes hair to grow in men's ears and applies it to growing it on their heads--that chemist will win a Nobel Prize and earn billions. And me--I have another story of an unnerving visit to the barber to add to my collection.
When someone sets your ear on fire unexpectedly, there's not much to do, except hope the damage isn't permanent. One thing I did do, was notice that the aroma of burning ear hair is not a scent that inspires gladness or nostalgia for anything at all. Although the surprise had diminished by the time my barber set my right ear ablaze, a small sense of horror remained, the kind of fear possibly experienced by early Neanderthal tenders of fire, when they realized they had something slightly frightening at their disposal.
It turns out that my barber was not a sadistic sort, but instead was engaging in a practice that began in Turkey hundreds of years ago called singeing. Turkish barbers, for various antiquated reasons, used fire to cut people's hair. And over time, the practice remained in place for removing hair from sensitive places like ears that can bleed like geysers when accidentally cut.
After I left Mr. Nice, still smelling a bit charred and smoky, I considered the peculiarities of men and their hair. Whatever enterprising chemist figures out the chemical process that suddenly causes hair to grow in men's ears and applies it to growing it on their heads--that chemist will win a Nobel Prize and earn billions. And me--I have another story of an unnerving visit to the barber to add to my collection.
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| My barber at Mr. Nice demonstrating the art of singeing after my visit. |
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