Diary entry

June 14th, 2012

Couldn't relax while worrying about the list of things I have to take care of, so I decided rather than just anxiously pacing I'd go and get a haircut so at least that would be out of the way. The past few times I'd been had gone by smoothly enough, so I thought perhaps I was starting to get the hang of it, but I was apparently very much mistaken.

In the past there had only ever been one person in the room when I arrived, and she never tried to talk to me at all apart from asking what I wanted doing. This time when I arrived there were three people sat around, none of them in the customer chairs, so I stood awkwardly in the entrance waiting for one of them to give me some kind of signal that they were working there and the person I should be talking to, but they all just sat watching me in silence as if I were some funny act.

One of the men looked somewhat similar to the guy who’d cut my hair in the past, so I started to head over towards him until he frowned and gave me a "what the fuck are you doing?" kind of look. At this, the woman who actually was working there realised what I was confused about and moved over to the front desk, gesturing for me to follow. I walked over to her, nervously fishing some money out of my pocket and stupidly holding it out to her, to which I was met with my second "what the fuck" look in response. Oh, right, I pay after the haircut, not before. How silly of me. She pretended not to notice the money and asked what I was in for.

"Uh, I'm sorry, I.. don't have an appointment or, anything, c-could I just.. have a.. a trim, please?"

She said yes and stood up, asked me to take a seat and started to walk around the desk towards me. Already exhausted by the exchange I plopped myself down into the nearest chair and let my head hang low, staring into my lap, not wanting to look at or meet eyes with my reflection in the mirror. After a few moments I noticed the silence that had filled the room and looked up to find out what the cause was, only to receive yet another "what the fuck are you doing" look, this time from three pairs of eyes at once. I'd sat down in the nearest chair to me and not noticed the woman walking over to stand behind the chair at the other end of the room and wait for me there in silence while watching me sit there like an idiot.

My embarrassment and anxiety were reaching critical levels. As I stood up from my wrong chair with all eyes upon me, I was beset with the urge to simply run out of the door and back home in shame. I looked to the doorway to plan my escape route and was reminded that the woman was stood between me and the exit, there was no way out other than to go around her. Defeated, I walked to her chair, sat down and let my head fall into my hands in despair. She suddenly realised I might be having a hard time and asked if I was alright, to which I told her yes and apologised for being awkward, telling her that I wasn't very good at being around other people.

Again I was asked what I wanted doing, and I attempted to request a trim of about an inch. It was an immense challenge trying to get my words out in such a state of panic, and I made even more of a fool of myself with the amount of mumbling and stuttering that came out along with those words. Not satisfied with this amount of torture, the woman started trying to make painful small talk, asking me if I'd just finished work, and then asking what I did for a living. To the first question I just said "yes" in an attempt to give the shortest answer, where "no" would have required an explanation. The reply for the next question was harder to think up, and again I stumbled over my words getting it out. I think I said something along the lines of, "Uhh, I do... online... from home... uh, a c-course, um, over the... the inter...internet...." gradually fading out into an extremely awkward silence.

The quiet was broken by one of the guys behind me starting to laugh at me, and then asking the hairdresser how she could understand what I was saying, adding that it "sounded as if I were speaking Klingon or something." The hairdresser started to laugh for a moment and then tried to cover it up and tell him not to say things like that, both of them acting as though I couldn’t hear them. I went along and pretended not to have heard them too, it was easier than trying to think of how to react or what to say. I don't know what I'm supposed to do in that sort of situation. I don't think there's much I could have said to improve things. Afterwards he carried on, talking about how there were a lot of "weirdo people" in this town and how it always surprised him how "freaky" the people here are, obviously referring to me as he spoke. Again, the hairdresser told him off gently while trying to stifle her laughter.

It felt like they were flirting by using me as a conversation topic, him expressing his manly dominance by openly making fun of me while I was still in the room and her giggling while playfully scolding him. Oh well, I carried on pretending to be oblivious while staring into my lap in order to avoid eye contact and get out of there as soon as possible without giving them any more reasons to mock me. I didn't even get a chance to look at how my hair was until I'd gotten back home.

I think this event possibly ranks among my most traumatic experiences, along with being scared into signing up to donate to the NSPCC because I didn't know how to say "no" to a woman in the street and then running to sob on the floor in front of my mental health worker in an elevator, and hiding in a store room during my grandparents' anniversary to cry in fear for hours by myself until a puddle of snot and tears had formed around my feet. I certainly won't forget it any time soon.

It's such an embarrassment that I can't even talk to anyone about it because of the shame. It's also frustrating because now I'm going to have to go looking for a new place to get my hair cut, because there is absolutely no way I'd be able to show my face in there again. Maybe I should just start cutting it myself, I'm hideous looking enough that a good or bad haircut wouldn't make any difference, and nobody outside of my family sees me for more than a few seconds in their lifetime anyway.

 

I don't know why I typed any of this up, it's not interesting or well-written. Maybe I'm hoping to feel less embarrassed about the memory if I can discuss it and laugh it off as just another failed attempt at going outside.