How many Japanese hairdressers does it take to do one's hair?

In my case: Four. One to spray water on my head, one to cover me up with towels and put mini-shower caps on my ears, one to mix my color, and one to stand around and watch in horror at my double-wide load of hair (Kyoto rain and humidity will give you big hair whether you want it or not).

My colleague sent me to her favorite salon--where no one speaks a word of English. She was supposed to tell them I wanted a simple color and a trim. At the salon, I tried to tell all four of my stylists that I didn't want them to make me a redhead ("Iie, chapatsu dozo") and that I didn't want a haircut that made me look like one of the Bay City Rollers--a Scottish pop band in the 1980s known for their bad shaggy hairdos--"Iie, Bay City Rollers karikomi." Towards the end of my makeover, one of the four made me lie back in a chair with my head in his sink, and then proceeded to put a towel over my face. My first thought was that he did this so he wouldn't have to look at my unsightly mug. Or perhaps this was a Japanese salon technique to make your tense client relax during the process?

My guy then lathered, rinsed, and slapped my wet hair the way you'd spank a baby's bottom. Afterwards, he threw in a head and neck massage. While not exactly relaxing, I was grateful that my face was covered so he couldn't see all the faces I ended up making.