the pits

Today, in preparation for the big turkey (or tofurkey) holiday, I went to get a haircut. I actually enjoy getting my haircut, so I was rather looking forward to the experience. That is, until I discovered that my regular hair cutter had quit her job, left California, and returned home to Iran. No, I'm not kidding.

But change is good.

This very nice woman waved me into her chair and only when she began to speak did I realize this experience may not turn out very well. The problem was that I couldn't understand a word she was saying. Her accent was so thick, and she had limited English comprehension. And unfortunately, I didn't speak a lick of Vietnamese. I felt bad. I didn't want to be rude and bolt out the door, so I decided to live in the moment and she flipped on the clippers and began buzzing away.

Despite cutting it way too short, she didn't do a bad job. The main problem was that when she lifted her arms, her body odor was so...uh, so, pungent that I thought I was going to pass out or vomit. Perhaps both. She clipped away. Raising her left arm. Then her right. Over and over again. Up, down. Down, up. I was holding my breath the best I could, but I was getting desperate.

So, I flipped myself into Zen mode. I thought about mountains, puppies, chocolate. Ohm. Ohm. Anything but that horrible smell. Finally, I closed my eyes and basically had an out of body experience. I hovered above the room and looked down as she continued (arms raised high in the air) to cut my hair. Up here in the space above her armpits the air was clean, and best of all odorless. Ohm. Ohm.

Suddenly, it was over as soon as it began. I wrote a check and even gave her a tip. Although I think the best tip I could have given her was to put down the scissors and get some deodorant.

I wonder how long it takes to fly to Tehran?