Hurrr

During the time that I lived near Kichijoji, I managed to go to the same hair salon for pretty much the whole time, despite a crippling awkwardness on the phone. My parents used to always have me run to get the phone growing up. 'Run' really is the operative word here. Our phone had a tendency to cut the machine after only a few rings, so if you didn't haul ass, you'd have to deal with hearing your own voice echo through the house along with the mechanical "we're sorry, but no one is available to take your call" voice and a confused other party. So, it's not as though I should have any reason to fear phones. I felt naked without my iPhone when visiting my parents' place this March. But really, speaking on the phone has become less and less natural.

Well, I'm not a teenager anymore, so that may be part of the issue, but really, even talking to friends on the phone is awkward and something I try to rush through. I know that part of the anxiety is from all of the confusion that occurs with attempting to communicate in a non-native language without visual clues. I know that very well. But I've lived here for over four years, now. I'm more surprised when I still get the initial praise of how well I speak. I thought we were past that. (Oh man, I still have to look up "passed" and "past" because I never feel like I have them just right. My poor English.) It's stupid of me. Petty, I guess. I am bored by the gushing fake admiration. But maybe it's genuine, and I'm just a numb, angry person.

The main reason why I was able to go to the same salon for so long was that I never made an appointment. Instead, I just walked in front of the place from time to time, and chickened out whenever they looked busy, only getting my hair cut when I had built up enough gall to walk in. This probably was a lot more stressful than just making an awkward phone call every couple months. But I made it work? Kind of. But I really liked that salon, and how the people who worked there treated me. Maybe that's only because I let them get beyond the initial encounter's default "wow! you can talk!" layer. I think they knew that I would be moving.

About four months after I moved into my current apartment, I got my hair cut at a salon in Ikebukuro. It was all kinds of awkward. I didn't really understand they way they did things. I was getting scolded for the state of my hair. I was convinced that I needed to buy special shampoos. I was in, I payed my money, and I was sent out the door with a new set of hang ups.

Five months after that, Rita dyed my hair black to get rid of the horrible mess it was becoming. At least it was a lot more natural than the weird flan-inspired thing that had been there. People were shocked by the color. I guess they all forgot that my hair is almost black to begin with.

A couple months later, Rita gave me a haircut in my room, using a pair of scissors I received from the office of our old university and a cheap razor from the drug store. It was nice. It looked fine. I felt good about it. But then I didn't doing anything after that for another four months.

It didn't seem like four months.

My hair was looking gross. The black dye was running out, and the lower half of my hair was becoming redder and redder each day, leading many people to ask if I had decided to go red. (This was a decision I made over a year before. I guess people are a little slow on the uptake.) Yesterday I decided to just cut it off.

And so I went to the nearest salon I had remembered seeing. I asked if there was any student discount (none for me, sadly) and just decided to go for it. No chance to let myself chicken out. Hop in the chair. Get it done.

Of course, being Japan, I had to fill out a form with my name, address, and whatever other stats first, but I was given a seat almost immediately. I met my stylist, and he asked me what I wanted, and then we were off to the shampoo station.

Relatively painless. Now I'm left with a card suggesting I go back in about two months with promises of a 500 yen discount.

I think that my perceived rudeness on the phone may be part of the reason why I didn't make it to the interview round with one of the companies I applied for. Job hunting has forced me to face the telephone, even if only to try to talk my way out of some event or another held for unfortunates like myself.

Maybe I'll make that call this time.