A trip to the dentist is most people's worst nightmare. Not me. A trip to the hairdresser is far more stressful, and mainly for one particular reason - small talk.
"How's your day going sir?" "Doing anything at the weekend?" I can't believe they actually say this stuff, and all in the vain hope of a one pound tip. Not from me buster, I keep shtum and they tend to get the message very quickly. I have very little hair and it's not rocket science taking a bit off all over, so I'm certainly not going to tip them for it - particularly if they've faffed about making a five minute haircut last an eternity. No chit chat, just cut the hair and let me go please.
And what's with that holding up a mirror to show me the back of my head afterwards? True, I don't get to see the back of my head very often, so it's a bit of a novelty, but what am I supposed to say? "Yep, that's the back of my head. Thanks."
At least in the dentist chair your mouth is full of tools, and you are concentrating so much on the drill penetrating what feels like the center of your brain, that the last thing on anyone's mind is small talk. Luxury.
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