Stuart Wragg: Clippers and whispers – having your hair cut when you’re deaf (BSL)

Clumps of hair, scattered on the floor below me, are swept away as I ease into a soft leather chair and face toward the mirror. The room is abuzz with the sound of clippers and conversational exchange between customer and barber. A speaker emits the drone of talk-back radio in the background.

Like an anxious meerkat, my eyes dart about, scanning the mirror for clues someone has attempted to converse. Getting a haircut can be stressful for many reasons but when you’re deaf in one ear the experience goes to a whole extra level.

The barber props his broom against the wall and starts arranging scissors with surgeon-like precision. He lifts his gaze to the mirror and mumbles a question. I assume he’s asked how I want my hair trimmed but I struggle to hear through the cacophony of sounds. I ask him to repeat the question. Again, nothing. I decide to ask once more but can’t catch it so give-in with a generic smile and nod. He smiles back and I exhale a sigh of relief. I don’t know what I’ve agreed to but I’m certain it’s better than frustrating a man armed with scissors.

Next comes the main event, the haircut itself. As the barber gets to work, I try not to flinch each time he comes near my deaf ear. It’s an odd sensation, feeling the scissors cutting without being able to hear them. I try to distract myself by watching other customers but it’s hard to focus when I can’t hear half of what’s going on around me.

Over the years, I’ve learnt to perfect a ‘I’m listening intently’ face. It’s a cross between a smile and a grimace, with just a hint of confusion thrown in for good measure. It’s a particularly helpful face for when the clippers come out. You know that experience when you’re speaking on the phone and a truck passes by and you can’t hear the person you’re speaking to? That’s what it’s like for me when they turn on the clippers. I just sit there, staring and grinning.

The barber shop is supposed to be a relaxing place but for me it’s a battlefield.  As the barber shifts from left to right, conversation advances and retreats as he moves toward then away from my working ear. At one point, he leans-in close to my deaf ear and whispers something. I turn to him and offer up a confused look. He repeats himself, but I can’t hear him. I smile into the mirror, hoping I’ve not missed some juicy gossip or signed up to a mullet.

Life’s so much easier at the dentist where the rules for conversing are clearer. At the dentist, there’s a brief exchange of words before and after the examination, then some small-talk with the receptionist as you book your next appointment. Much as I dislike visiting the dentist, I do enjoy the calm that comes knowing there are clearly defined windows for conversation.

Back at the barber shop I’m jolted to reality as Edward Scissor Hands announces he’s done. The haircut has ended but the uncomfortableness has not.  He appears with a hand-held mirror, asks how I like the cut and follows-up with another question that’s impossible to hear.  Distracted trying to gauge whether I look more like a pop star or potato, I respond with a catch-all “sounds good.” The implication of this response becomes clear moments later when, standing at the register to pay, I’m handed two pots of styling clay priced $20 each. This, alas, is the deaf tax I must pay.

Getting a haircut when you’re deaf in one ear is like playing a game of Russian roulette. You never know what you’re going to end up with, but it’s always an adventure. Maybe next time I’ll just shave my head and call it a day.

Stuart is a communications consultant, piano player and keen runner.  Born deaf in his right ear, Stuart has found his deafness leads to more amusing experiences than major challenges.  Originally from the UK, Stuart moved to Australia in 2010 and lives in Sydney with his partner Andy.