The Czech Haircut Disgrace

Not so long ago - as some of you might still recall, if not here's the link - my picture came out on Cosmo girl magazine along with a mildly metrosexual quotation.

Although I would discuss the way in which some of my mentioned over the edge personal care methods made me seem like an overly self-centred male, I do have to admit there's a special relationship between me and my hair. We all men have the same issue; I was just dumb enough to choose the most testosterone-lacking words while saying so.

This week I went to the Czech Republic's capital, Prague: Amazing city, great prices, horrible language. I don't know if everyone wanted to fool me or if they really had no English, or French, or Spanish knowledge. To be fair, most people speak only their native language in every European city I've been to... yet, you don't expect the same when there are only 10.25 million people on earth speaking the incredibly unpopular, rough dialect!

I first noticed so when taking a taxi from the airport to the hostel. At first hand anyone would've thought that the driver was a comfortable and fluent English speaker... during the price negotiation phase that is. As soon as I got into the cab he switched from friendly Eastern-European mode to mute creepy speeder. I tried to make some conversation but it was clear that he couldn't understand a word... or he was great at pretending illiterate asshole didn't bother him.

I'd wanted to have a haircut for a couple of days now. That same day, while having a walk through the surroundings, I found a hairstyle salon. It looked super nice; all neat and mignonne crew (well, there was only 1 girl but she looked nice)... downside? Monolingual hell.

She was not just monolingual, but also a severe brain-dead case. I tried all the international money-signs when asking for the price, and even when I took money out of my wallet she thought I was giving it to her as a gift (or perhaps a late payment and she couldn't figure out my face since it all happens in the dark... mean joke, you don't have to laugh). When she finally understood, the price came out as a shocker for me... less than 4 euros... which is nothing compared to the average 16 it would be chez-moi.

You get what you pay for. While on my quest to explain what I wanted, she misunderstood the: Don't cut there, ne pas couper ça, no cortar esto, and thought I was meaning: I don't want this, please cut it off by all means. Seriously, she did all the wrong places at light speed as if she knew her interpretation of my words had a 90% chance of being erred; once she did one side I couldn't do but to let her equal the process on the other. I ended up looking like an Eastern-Europe soccer star, and even worse, she did it all with an ear-to-ear smile like if she'd been part of a life-improving event.

I went back to my room feeling like shit. Why couldn't I have waited for a few more days? Stupid 3.5 euro haircuts... screw Czech. My sisters could totally understand how something like that can get me angry; I hate soldier-like haircuts. I had to do something.

Next day in the morning I went shopping. I needed something to cover my childish haircut and at the same time feel good about the results, so I bought two stupid hats that made the trick. But I couldn't wear those with any of the outfits I had, so yes, I also had to buy clothes that could fit them.


So next time you're in a foreign country don't let cheap currencies fool you... they're cheap because their overall final products are most likely to have a bad or unreliable quality.

Thanks for the lesson Czech Republic!