A Misunderstanding

This story is about a real incident written by my wife that happened to her. We’ve  kept it as real as she can remember. It has not been altered. We hope you enjoy it.

We had moved El Paso Texas, in the winter of 2005, where roughly 80% of the population is Mexican. Living there, I found it best to support the small business run by Mexicans who immigrated to the US to follow their dream. Being American, I received more respect in the community for doing so.

The salon I went to was mostly Spanish speaking with English as a second language. My stylist, Guadalupe, was fluent in English. When I first met her, she told me bobs were her specialty. She was a great stylist, but she could only do one style. Blunt cut, chin length, all one length. It was nice, but that’s all she did.

By the summer, the temperature had risen to over 100f. I was hoping to get Guadalupe to cut my hair a little shorter, so it would be off my neck. When I called her to make an appointment, she told me she had a family emergency in Mexico, and she would have the other stylist Camila do my hair.

On the day of my appointment, it was particularly hot. Although we’d seen each other in the salon, Camila never cut my hair. So when I told her I wanted my hair cut shorter, she was surprised.

She had me sit at her station, which was different from Guadalupe’s, in that it was full of photos from her hometown in Juárez Mexico. She’d lived in El Paso for a year, and her English was improving, although whatever you told her, she would repeat it back for clarification.

Seated and caped, I told her, “I wanted it short, I want it cut so it’s over my ears”. She replied “over the ears?” I said Yes, and I want it buzzed in the back”. I put my hand, flat on my occipital bone to show her how high I wanted it and said “I want it buzzed up to here”. Looking at the top of my hand, she repeated, buzzed up to here?” Not realizing how high my hand actually went, I replied “Yes, and you can take some of the bulk out of the top”. She looked a bit confused so I said, “ you can thin it out.”  Oh, she said, “make it thin with scissors”. I nodded yes.

She washed my hair. The cool water felt good, as they only had a small air conditioner and fans blowing around stagnant air. After a good washing, she began sectioning off the rear of my hair.

I guess it was my fault for not being more specific, for when she turned on the clippers and started plowing through my hair, she went well past the occipital bone and almost reached my crown. At first I wasn’t sure what was happening, but by the 2nd and 3rd pass I realized she was going too high.

I said to her, “Camilla, isn’t that too high?” She placed her hand on the back of my head, where I had mine, and said, “No, right where you said”. I couldn’t argue, for that was where I put my hand. Camilla kept buzzing away at the back of my head. Tufts of hair were sliding down the cape. I began to wonder how I was going to style my hair now. After she buzzed the back, Camilla began to re-section my hair. She sectioned off the top and brought down the sides and back. She took her scissors and started cutting at the back. She then made her way to the ear and snipped off my hair right above my ear!  Seeing this I said “Camilla! I wanted it over my ear”. Puzzled, she looked at me and said, “Yes, like you say to do. Cut over the ear”. I quickly recalled what I said. When I said over the ear, I meant I wanted my hair to lay over my ears but she thought I wanted it cut above and over my ears.

At this point there was nothing I could do but to wait for her to finish her cut. I watched as more hair slide down the cape, exposing my ears and snipping away any remnants of the blunt bob Guadalupe had previously given me.

I started to worry, as with my ears exposed, it was beginning to look like a bowlcut. I hadn’t had a bowlcut in years, and it was not something I wanted. But this fears subsided when Camilla took out her thinning shears. She started hacking into my hair with the shears. Snipping and snipping, I watched as more and more hair slid down the cape, and my bulky hair began laying closer to my head.

After blending the back into the top and sides, she looked towards the front. My hair seemed disconnected as it was now longer in the front, and shorter in the back. Camilla combed the longer pieces forward and simply asked, “Cut?” I pushed the hair out of my face and said, “No bangs. Not too short”. Camilla nodded and combed my hair to the side, then cut my hair creating a side swept bang.

When she was done,I got up from the chair. My hair that earlier was bobbed on my head now surrounded the chair on the floor. I looked in the mirror. I had a pixie cut. As a kid, I had a pixie cut and never liked it. And now, I still didn’t like it.

But I felt I had no one to blame but myself. When I arrived home, my husband asked me, “What did you do to your hair?” Too embarrassed to admit my mistakes. I simply smiled and said,  “I cut it.” He then replied “it’s a little short, I thought you didn’t like pixies”. I responded, saying “I don’t, but it’s cool for the summer”.

+39