Razor Ramblings: Welcome Back Edition

I’m definitely excited that this “blogment” has been reincarnated. Gone are the days of shaving myself.  Back are the days of wondering around the city looking for the very best in Blade Ballets.

My inaugural Cairo shave was indeed a surreal experience. It began with me thinking, “Wow, this is great,” and ended with, “What the #^$& just happened?” Probably not a good sign when sharp blades and delicate skin are involved.

Location: Some backstreet close to my house
Number of Nicks: 1
Rating: 4/5

Having already negotiated a price, I sauntered back to the shady, alleyway establishment that had done a mediocre job cutting my hair. As I approached the doorway, I could see two kids inside: one, the older of the two (he had cut my hair) was shaving and older fellow, while the other was just sitting on the bench watching excitedly. My immediate thought was, “Ok, I can handle a kid shaving me. What difference does it make, anyways?”

I waited for a few minutes, while the current client was taken care of, and then was ushered to sit down. The chair was comfy, especially after the headrest was adjusted. Then a peculiar thing happened; a brilliant customer service move. The boy took the remote and changed it to an English channel so that I had something to watch. Wow. He could put a gash in my face the size of the Sphinx and still come away with at least a three rating.

One substantial difference was the consistency of the cream. In India, they use a thick, foaming substance, whereas here it’s more of a runny liquid. It started to dribble down my chin, but the boy was adept enough to get the horsehair brush ready and begin the lathering technique before the liquid had traveled too far. His lather job was good, however the cream itself was the hindrance. Instead of foaming action, it kind stuck to my face like paste. I wondered if this would cause any friction-related problems, but I ended up realizing that I just had to trust him.

His first stroke with the blade was one of veteran-like precision. Had my eyes been closed I would’ve figured it was an old man doing the honours. The boy worked slowly, carefully, ensuring not to make a mistake that would send me to the ER. His meticulousness was a welcome change to the violent strokes of many Indian blade wielders. His technique on the other side, though, was one of hurried excitement. It was like he wanted to get me in and out of the chair. Not that this was a problem because I didn’t get the burning sensation I was so accustomed to.

After applying the second coat of lather, he went straight to work on the part directly below the chin. Over and over it he went, seemingly unsatisfied with his work. At one point I was worried that there wasn’t going to be any skin left. When he finally finished, I reached into the drawer and pulled out a spool of thread. He motioned to me with a “Want me to use this?” look in his eye. Hmm…perhaps not this time. I’ll definitely get it the next time, though.
The other little boy had just been sitting there patiently while I had my work done. At one point, a club scene with dance music had showed on the movie I was watching. What else did the kid do but break out into some sweet dance moves. I had to laugh, even though a razor was pressed up against my face. This is where things started to go downhill.

From what I can gather, the father came back, cursing like a sailor. The boy went outside for a bit, got cursed at, and then came in clutching his hand. After a few minutes, I could see the blood soaking through the toilet paper wrap he had applied. When I got out of my chair, I looked at the poor kid’s finger and saw that it had been slashed. I tried to inquire about what happened but all I got back was that he cut it outside. Brutal. Then the father came in and starting asking me to give him my shoes. Hmm…no, I kinda need those.

As I walked away, performing the customary face check, I wondered, “What the #%$& just happened?”