It created confusion. Or, rather I created confusion and a certain amount of alarm. The girls at the hair salon didn't speak any English and they clearly weren't sure what to do when a white guy walks in.
Luckily, they weren't the hair stylists. They were assistants to the hair stylist who bring people drinks and put aprons on people and remove them later. They also run and grab things for the hair stylists. Apparently, Vietnam has executive hair stylists.
One of the confused girls made a frenzied phone call, after which she held up her hand to represent the number five – which I took to mean five minutes. It didn't even take that long before a motorcycle came whizzing up to the door of the salon and in came my hair stylist.
I needed a haircut and shave and this place was next door to our Saigon hotel. The morning I went, it was empty – so it seemed like a good time to give it a shot.
My hair stylist spoke limited English, but enough to ask what I wanted. I explained and motioned what I wanted. There was some confusion. He sent an assistant to the back and she returned with electric clippers.
Just then, another hair stylist – I assume his business partner – arrived. His English was much better. He checked on what I wanted, understood and we were off and running.
I got the feeling that the guy working on me probably hadn't shaved anyone since barbering or cosmetology school. He looked at my face as if it was a canvas and he was a sculptor. But he was being called upon to be an artist and he wasn't going to back down.
He shaved my head and face as gently as if they were porcelain. In fact, I would say he was more careful, studious and gentle than the Bangkok barber – if that's even possible. Only he was intently fixed on everything he did. He was a complete perfectionist.
Then he did what no previous barber had done – he pulled out a pair of scissors to trim my goatee. He didn't like using clippers clearly preferred the work of his own hands. He did a fine job too.
At the end of the 25 or so minutes he spent on me, the hair stylist charged me 100,000 Dong or about $5. The assistant girls lined up and waved goodbye as I left – feeling both impressed and a little weirded out.
Although the situation was somehow a little stranger than my previous global barbering experiences, this hairstylist followed the mold of the Bangkok and Ubud barbers in his gentle approach. Of course, he paid far more attention to details than the Bali barbers.
That's why when it was time for a clean-up in Hanoi, I was confident things were going to work out. I was prepared for another timid, gentle barber who might find working on me an odd, but interesting change of pace from his usual work. After all, they're not dealing with a lot of thick beards, or shaved heads here.
But things turned out a little different than I had imagined. I wandered the streets of Old Hanoi looking for a barbershop that looked properly equipped and able to take me immediately.
There were far fewer options than I had anticipated. So, when I walked into a shop with several women sitting around, I wasn't sure if they would be cool with shaving a foreigner's head and face.
That's when I met her – the female barber who could teach them all a few things. She was young – maybe 26 – and soft spoken. Her English seemed limited, but a she worked on me, she asked several well formed questions. She was just timid – in speech only.
The confidence she lacked in English she had in spades when it came to her craft. With little explanation, she got the concept and got to work. She was just as careful and perhaps more detailed than the other Asian barbers I've had, but far more aggressive. She turned my head to the angle she needed and held it in place with a shockingly firm grip.
She was a woman on a mission and my head and face just happened to be what she was working on at the time. With the greatest skill and acumen I've seen since the incredibly gifted barbers of Turkey who take pride in grooming hairy men – this girl had me cleaned up perfectly in 15 minutes or less.
Like the stylist in Saigon, she preferred scissors to complete my beard. Only she got every odd or errant hair. My beard was picture perfect.
During the course of what I like to think of as "the procedure," the stylist asked me where I was from, if I was on holiday and asked if I liked Hanoi. But that was really all the chit chat. I might credit that to linguistic barriers – but I got the distinct feeling that talk was just unwanted distraction.
This was also a woman who knew her worth. She charged me 150,000 Dong, or $7.50. A value – especially compared to Singapore.
Singapore hair cuts can get just as expensive as home – sometimes more. However, there's a couple of chain of Japanese hair cutting shops that all charge S$10 ($8 USD) for 10 minutes. In that 10 minutes, they will give any haircut you want using clippers and shears. No shampooing and no rinsing. Instead, they use a vacuum to suck the loose hairs off your head, neck and shoulders when it's over.
While this might be horrifying to some, it's perfect for my needs. Why pay more? I just need someone with clippers to run them over me. So, I went. I got to the nearest shop a few minutes before they opened. The girls who would be working for at least the next 8 hours were finishing their food, having drinks, talking – in no rush to open a minute earlier than necessary. These shops can have lines out the door and they see clients back to back to back for indefinite periods of time. Their productivity is tracked.
That's probably why even though I was the first customer of the day, my barber wasn't so happy to see me. She had all the enthusiasm of a prostitute (not that I actually know). She also had limitations – like apparently, no beard.
By that point, it was too late – these shops have you buy a card from an automated machine and then give the card to the barber. Barbers don't handle cash. With my money already gone for good, I figured a haircut, no beard was better than nothing.
The girl did a perfectly complete and adequate job in the most robotic, lackluster way a person could possibly cut hair. Being Singaporean, she spoke English perfectly well – but just preferred not to talk. That was fine – she wasn't a very inviting person.
I got the feeling QB House isn't the greatest place to work. Nonetheless, I thanked her and left a tip. I got shot a smile for that. I don't think Singaporeans usually tip – especially at the $10 pre-pay shop.
Nonetheless, QB House may be one of the most interesting experiences because of its lack of humanity. The people seem almost incidental to a finely designed system. It's clear they feel that way. Still, system did what it set out to do. The work was perfect and quite a deal for Singapore.
All I could conclude is that QB House is just a social experiment within a social experiment. Oh, Singapore…land of quandaries, place where basic assumptions about human behavior are constantly challenged. Even in my haircut.
