My son and I got our hair cut today...

...and we went to the cheap place in town (surprised?) where the barbers speak some exotic foreign language. I have to say that it doesn't exactly inspire confidence when your barber isn't clear on a number two buzz. Isn't that something you would learn on your first day at barber college? Okay, second day. I'd guess the first day is pretty much taken up with where the bathrooms and vending machines are, how many absences you're allowed, and where and when you can duck out for a smoke. After lunch you begin with the number one buzz. Then on the second day you tackle the number two buzz. But shouldn't you have it down by the time you show up for your first day on the job?

The woman who cut my hair today wasn't clear on the number two buzz, however, and had to bring the older lady over to help with the back of my neck. I couldn't help asking her what language they were speaking and she responded, "Assyrian, the Lord's language." Huh? In Mel Gibson's "The Passion of the Christ," which was praised for its accuracy, Jesus spoke Aramaic. I didn't correct her, though. I figure it's never a good idea to antagonize someone who's holding sharp metal instruments in close proximity to your throat. She finished up, finally (how long is this going to take?) and held a mirror up so I could see the back of my head. This is always an awkward moment as I'm never sure what I'm supposed to say. "Looks good?" That's not very creative. What I want to say is, "Hey, what did you do to my mullet?" It's like when you're at a restaurant and the waiter pours you a little wine to try before he fills up everyone else's glass. It's kind of an E. F. Hutton moment. Everyone at the table stops what they're doing to look at you and see how you handle it. What are you supposed to do? Hold the glass up to the light, swish it around a few times and then drink it? Meanwhile, the waiter is either sighing audibly or rolling his eyes.

"C'mon, buddy," he's thinking. "I've got five other tables to take care of."

"Yep. That's definitely a '97 Pouilly-Fuisse. Thought for a minute there that you were going to try to slip a '98 past me." At that point everyone exhales and you can get on with the meal.

But I turned to the barber and mumbled, "Looks good," or some such banality and she looked relieved. I really wonder if that was her first professional haircut. Now she's wondering if the tips are always so meager. Oh well, you get what you pay for. Haircut looks good, though.