Language Accident by Al

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A couple of years after college, I found myself working in Paris - a great place to live - fabulous cafes, people wandering the streets looking like they were enjoying life, and life indeed going more slowly - lots of time to just watch the world pass and really appreciate the more subtle bits of being alive - sunny days, different aromas and the like.

I had been there about 3 months - long enough for my standard #4 to have become a rather embarassing shabby-but-comfortable bonnet. What to do? My regular barber was several thousand miles away, and I had no plans to be in his neighbourhood for at least another 6 months. My #4 was the shorter end of an evolution from highschool which had become comfortably short - not extreme so I'd be noticed, but short to feel kind of in control of life - hey, I could do what I liked!...but not quite what I liked maybe?

It took a couple of weeks to suss out Paris barbers. For a start, a "barber" doesn't exist - coiffure, "shampooing" and the like everywhere. I had logged a place which was on my way to work - people coming out looking well shorn but not "coiffured" - and decided one day on an otherwise normal day to the office, that it really was time to do something about the beehive that was taking over on top.

Without really thinking, I entered, only then to realise that I had committed - you don't walk out of a French Coiffure - it just isn't done. At this point I started to ponder more seriously - what do I ask for - will "un numero quatre s'il vous plait" translate? Hey - I was immersing myself in real france, so what the hell - I'm sure we'd get through.

Time hung around, and then came the "monsieur?" - not from the 30 year old guy who had been holding the fort, but from a 20 (?) year old trendy guy who had emerged, clearly just starting his shift.

I felt good at my patchy french doing the pleasantries admirably, and the "numero quatre..." line - well rehearsed by then - seemed to have succeedded in a fairly "wholemeal" comb being attached to the clippers, and off he went.

Maybe it was his age, but he was certainly very keen to chat. My french was fine for shopping and elementary conversation, but still limited beyond that. We did the weather, what I was doing in paris, where I was from... then we got onto the differences between french "coiffures & "barbers" - oui, les barbers. He laughed that you could spot english & american tourists a mile away as they all had extreme buzzcuts and shaved heads. I retorted with my observation that the french seemed quite conservative, with which he agreed with a sigh.

After 5 minutes or so, the clippers had done most of their work, and my concentration was waning - certainly on the details of the language. He took the mirror to show me my standard #4 - the normal that I had extected. Perhaps partly out of a language relief & was flattering him with various pronunciations of "oui... oui.... ah, oui, c'est bon" throwing in a few francophone noises such as "hein". He was clearly quite talkative by this point and I assumed I had had another inter-lingual success, although I had no idea what he was saying.

As he replaced the mirror, I assumed I was about to have the cape taken off, when I heard the clunk of the clippers once more over his chatter .. maybe he's seen an uneven bit I thought. He took off the comb and with a "oh well then" type smile, started with the clippers at the back. I had stopped concentrating in the mirror, but started thinking two things... firstly that he'd stopped talking, and secondly that there was a sensation of cold metal high up the back of my head. Hang on....

... I had lost all control of language - how do you say "stop!" in french in a hurry when you're not expecting that you have to?

The clippers went high - then he started the next stripe - I could feel the coolnees of the exposed skin - what was happeneing? What should I do? Speechless, I saw him turn to the side - same again - no comb - from the bottom straight up - no stopping. What did I feel? Confusion? certainly - why was this happening? but did I complain? Was it the language that stopped me from doing so? It certainly wasn't any rational thought - much too late for that... but why was it happening?

He continued - I was just stunned. I came to to his chatter - something about him not being surprised that when I'd seen my #4 that maybe it didn't match my culture "trop francais..." - then it started to dawn - my "oui, ah oui" show had clearly been seen as a response to him returning to some part of the conversation about shaved heads - oh hell - what to do now?

OK... the sides were gone - should I rescue the top? I certainly had no desire for any high & tight, and anyway, it was too late - from the front straight to the back... and bowling green length stripe - and on he went, clearly enjoying the transformation. And so, I found, was I!

After a surreal minute, the clippers stopped and I looked at the person in the mirror with some vague recognition - what would by workmates say? when will I next see my parents? etc etc... well, it'll take some growing I guess... then, as if from nowhere, a quieter buzzing started and before I knew it, he was on to the top of the head with an electric shaver. Strangely, my first thought was " that's not very french", but soon I realised what was happening - he'd really thought that I had decided, on seeing my #4, that it was time to go for zero. I had never even considered this as an option, but he was clearly now on a mission.

By this time, I was captivated - look... my face with no hair. In no time, he had finished, and I had latched back on to the conversation... he seemed really pleased that I had decided to go for the ultimate...

... I paid in a daze and walked onto the shady street. I could feel, for the first time, air on my head. It was stunning. I touched it. Rubbed it. Caught a reflection in a shop window. Like, wow! it was amazing! I was completely mentally liberated and transformed - I utterly adored my beautiful shiny dome!

I invested in a shaver and for my months in paris kept my beautiful shaved head - such a luxutry & liberty.

Don't wait for an accident of language - get that shaver out today!

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