At the bar I used to work at in my other life in the United States, one of my regular customers would tell the same joke every time I got a haircut, “What did the barber get for that haircut?” To which I would act like I did not know, even though I heard this joke about a dozen times during my tenure there. His response was always a heartfelt, “He should have gotten life!”
Above, is the only picture that exists in the immediate aftermath of getting a haircut in Taiwan. In it, I am blasting away zombies at a mall in Zhonghe City. Getting a haircut was an interesting experience. When asked what style I wanted, I was presented with two style magazines that were as thick as catalogs. It didn’t matter that I could not read Chinese, because the magazines were Japanese, and there were a lot of pictures to guide my decision-making process. I quickly skipped past styles which looked like an 80s hair band revival and those that had giant spiders carved in the back. Included in the session was an extra long shampoo/scalp massage session much to my enjoyment. I also got to practice what little Mandarin I know. Of course I was asked how tall I was and the immediate follow-up inquiry as to whether or not I play basketball. I should really learn, “I am too clumsy for basketball, my athletic ability is better suited for PlayStation” in Chinese.
Total damage to my wallet was a mere $400 NT and the results seem much better than had I tried to do it myself.