I went to one of the local barbershops and sat there in one of the available uncomfortable chairs waiting for my turn. With my receding hairline and greying hair, the experience is more than a chore as one could imagine. The past visit also has been rough with the stylist - the professional term used these days. No thanks. I prefer to stick to referring them as barbers as my previous one was less-than-professional making some unremarkable but laughable jokes about my precious hairline; "Gone with the wind, ah sir; shall I use scissors or a blower to finish", still echoes in my mind. So I switched to a newly opened aka cheaper option. The rhythmic metal blades of the scissors and the smell of wet, sheared hair were already making me sleepy. "Sir..”, initially gentle voice of my barber broke my slumber party. "Sir", this time the pitch had risen considerably, “SIR, come... come..”. The voice hastened me with a tinge of annoyance only a Sunda...
Thoughts and notes on a range of self-improvement topics. Will make you stop and think.