On October 4th, 2012, I attempted to get a haircut here in Hannover, Germany. I was long overdue for a good shearing, and I wanted to clean up a little because we were about to see my wife’s entire family to celebrate her father’s birthday. I chose a place called ‘Fast Cuts,’ which appeared to be the German version of Supercuts. Anyway, none of the hair stylists at Fast Cuts spoke English and my wife could not translate for me because she was at work, so I did what any red-blooded American male would do; I swaggered into that chop shop like I owned the place and got my hair did.
Here’s how the conversation between me and the tattooed hair stylist girl went, if you were to translate everything directly into English:
ME: “Good day to you. I understand very little German.”
STYLIST: “Okay.”
ME: “I would gladly take a hair… a hair… a hair slice. Shit.”
STYLIST: “Yes. Would you like to hang up your coat?”
ME: “Oh. You said ‘coat.’ Yes. Perfect. Thank you very much.”
STYLIST: “How would you like your hair cut today?”
ME: “I have no idea what you are saying to me right now. Please, a half of one millimeter over, and then five millimeters to the left, to the right, and behind.”
STYLIST: “What?”
ME: “Centimeter. Dammit! I meant one half of one centimeter over.”
STYLIST: “We have attachments for 12, 8, 6 and 3 millimeters.”
ME: “Three. Three is perfect. I don’t know.”
STYLIST: “Wow. Okay.”
ME: “And please, make it very boring up high. Right here.”
STYLIST: “Faded? Near the top?”
ME: “Yes. Awesome. Perfect. Thank you very much.”
STYLIST: “Do you want me to use the electronic hair clipper?”
ME: “Yes. Everything.”
15 minutes later I was staring into the mirror, dazed and confused, getting to know my brand-new buzz cut. Let me tell you, this mother was short. I paid the girl, tipped her a Euro for some reason, then stumbled out of Fast Cuts a few inches shorter than when I arrived.
The first thing I said to my in-laws when I greeted them two days later was, “Hello. Good night, isn’t it? I am sorry for my skull. I know I am not a skinhead.”
Click here to learn more about the term “Culture Shock.”
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Oh God, My Wife Is German. 
I admire your chuzpah of going to the hairdresser in Germany at all. My German is nigh on perfect and even I have the greatest respect for Germans who wield a double set of sharp blades for a living. Maybe next time take a picture of yourself how you want to look like?
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Thank you Sandra! I am nothing if not recklessly adventurous. I knew I would either end up with the greatest haircut of my life, or the absolute worst. Either way, it was gonna be noteworthy. :)
Next time I will take a notecard with me, dictated by my wife.
How goes the pregnancy?
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Noteworthy… I’d say, hehe.
Pregnancy is going smoothly, thanks for asking. The finish line is in sight, so beware of ever more Germans populating this crazy place.
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Good! The more the better!
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Think nothing of it. German hairdressers are all bastards. Whenever I go there, they cut me a hole in my hair on the back of my head, because they think I dont see it. Gets bigger all the time.
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Haw haw! Jesus, Anon… we must put a stop to this. :)
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