Outside of my apartment, there is a massive chain hair salon. They are quite efficient, very official, and extremely precise with each and every haircut. It is definitely much more than my 20 kuai spot around the corner. I would go there, but they frighten me a little bit.
Each morning, they have music that sounds like the Tributes probably would practice to during the warm-ups to the Hunger Games. And then they begin to march. They sway their arms back and forth, saluting into the air, and crying out the responses to the call and repeat of their boss.
As I went to take my picture, they all began to frown and slammed the doors on me. Which was just no fun. Come on, what can you expect when you are marching to warm up for your day trimming peoples’ hair? Of course I must take a picture of that for my blog.
And while I thought that I was in deep trouble, and that I would get glares from the people of the hair salon each and every time I passed by the salon, I took a quick look back. The chanting had stopped. Eyes were all on me. Groups of girl hairstylists were all giggling and looking at me. And from the second row, a timid had went up half way. One of the male hair stylists did a quick wave and a grin. But the facade was only broken for a quick moment, before their boss began the chanting once more, and the marching re-commenced.
It is probably one of the strangest things to watch every morning, but if marching in place makes for a darn good hair cut, then I guess they should keep on marching.