2003-11-16 at 11:10 p.m.

Going to the hairdresser is always a risky business. That's probably why I haven't been since March.

Until today, that is.

I went to one of those 'Just Cuts' no appointments, walk-right-in type salons. When one walks into one of those places, one is stupidly putting the wellbeing of his/her hair on the line. You're never sure if you're going to get a fully trained stylist or a teenaged overenthused kamikaze hairdresser trainee, wielding a pair of scissors like a chainsaw and hacking blithely, while you make polite small talk and contemplate the logistics of wearing a paper bag over your head for the next six months.

Normally, I would not have entrusted my hair to this risky game of follicle Russian Roulette. Unfortunately, I am poor, and was left with no alternative.

But then, even when one visits a normal hairdresser, they go through the following ritual. You carefully describe the style you want. The hairdresser nods, smiles, and then carefully ignores everything he/she's just heard and does whatever the hell he/she wants to your scalp.

Well, wait for it. Here's the kicker.

The hairdresser I got today was deaf.

Now, don't get me wrong. I am in no way against equal opportunity employment. However, describing how I wanted my hair cut rapidly disintegrated into a rather elaborate game of charades with two rather confused participants.

In the end, she just dragged out a book filled with photographs of happy families with various attractive hairstyles, I pointed at one, and she cut my hair. Very well, too. Kept to the style I'd selected, and everything. It was quite a refreshing change.

Maybe we should employ only deaf people as hairdressers. At least it cuts down on the painful small-talk.