Where did she go?

beaker

On Saturday I went to get my hair cut.  Although I want my hair to look good, I don’t invest in it.  I use $1.79 Suave shampoo.  I get my hair cut about every two months.  I get it cut short.  I let it grow long.  Then I pay $15 to have it pruned again.

I have Supercuts saved in my contacts so I can call about 15 minutes before I arrive.  That way when I walk in the door, I get to jump in front of the big haired dudes sitting on the purple benches who got there before me but hadn’t called in advance.  I LOVE that feeling.  I feel so… special.

This time, right when I walked in, my stylist, I use that term loosely ‘cause there ain’t that much style, called me to the chair.  She was a short, plump woman with long, thick, curly blonde hair.  She wrapped my body in a black, plastic cover and tucked a dryer sheet looking piece of cloth around my skinny little neck to keep the clippings out of my shirt.

She began her work.  A number 5 clipper guard in the back of my head, a number 6 on sides.  The top is hacked with scissors.  As she was nearing the end of the clipper stage of my cut, she abruptly left the room.

“Excuse me,” she said.

She walked quickly to the back of the salon and disappeared.  I thought it odd but assumed she had a little stomach issue or something.

I waited.  After 8 or 9 minutes, I grew tired of looking at myself in the mirror and pulled out my phone.

After 12 or so minutes, I’d glanced through my emails and had begun to wonder if my friend was OK.  What if she’s out cold in the break room?  I wondered.  What if she’s had a medical emergency?  What if she had grown weary of giving haircuts and had left for the Caribbean?

I looked at my head.  My hair had been sheered with the trimmers three quarters up my entire skull.  The top was the exact same length as when I’d walked into the place thirty minutes before.  I looked like Beaker from the Muppets.  If she didn’t come back, would another employee finish the job?  Would I have to walk out with a bowl cut?  Would there be another salon open on a Saturday afternoon that could fix this issue?

At around 15 minutes another staff member disappeared into the breakroom.  It had become noticeable to all that she might not return.

I glanced around nervously concerned for her (and for me).

At 18 minutes she appeared, her face was blanched.

I wasn’t sure if I should say something, but it was obvious that I noticed she was gone.

“Are you OK?” I tentatively asked.

“Un.  It’s hot in here isn’t it?” she responded.

“Yeah.  Sort of.”  There was a temperature change that day and the heater seemed to still think it was 24 degrees outside.

Then she began to explain.  “Well I’m wearing a wig.  It’s squeezing my head and heating me up!  I bet I’m 15 degrees hotter than you.  I was about to pass out.  I had to go take that thing off for a little while.  Get some blood movin’ up there.”

I wasn’t quite sure what to say.  I didn’t know a wig could do that.  In fact, I had no idea she was wearing a wig!  I had not seen a wig since I opened my grandmother’s closet in 1972 and a Styrofoam head with blonde hair fell down and nearly made me wet my pants.

I’m not sure what I said to the woman after she confessed that her hair wasn’t real.  I think I came up with something like, “Well.  I’m glad you got that worked out.”

I left her a big tip and told her maybe she should take the rest of the day off.  Or maybe, just remove the wig.  I mean, she’s a cosmetologist.  I saw her credentials hanging at her booth.  Couldn’t she fix her real hair?

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My Banana Clip

banana-clip

It was a Wednesday morning about 10.  I had an hour to kill before I had to be at my next meeting.  I have not shaved the beard I grew in November for the play we were in.  Two people at work told me they like it.  That’s all the encouragement I need!  My cheeks will never feel the stroke of a razor again.

The problem was my hair was getting a bit squirrely too.  A friend walked into the coffee shop where I was meeting with a co-worker and said I looked like the Unibomber.  Now, this dude shaves from his adam’s apple to the nape of his neck so he clearly prefers the bowling ball look, but I knew he had a point.

I drove across the street to a Wing Cuts or Great Chops or whatever the $12.95 hairdo place was located.  To my dismay, it was closed.  Like, out of business closed, so I needed another option.  Alas, I remembered that there was a shop of some sort beside the fast food Japanese restaurant the girls and I frequent right around the corner.  Maybe I’d be able to smell the Teryaki Chicken while in the chair.

When I drove up, I was a bit intimidated.  It looked more like a salon than a Sports Clips.  It was called E.A. Wells Hair Design.  Fancy schmancy!  I wasn’t sure they would take me cause I wasn’t sure I had enough on the top of my head to design anything.  But Abbey greeted me with such enthusiasm, I figured I’d give it a go.

She escorted me to the back of the shop and sat me in a chair which was attached to a sink.  It reclined and at the top had a scoop cut out of the ceramic where you rested your neck.  My head just dangled about in the burgundy bowl.

Homegirl scrubbed my scalp like I was her dog.  She’d put some product of some sort on my head and just go to town.  She’d rinse and repeat.  She did that like four times.  My head must have been way, way dirty.  And she didn’t even get my clothes wet!

Man did it feel good.  I was gonna ask her to marry me, I mean the stuff she was doing was very personal.  Hmmm.  Perhaps I could just hire her to wash my hair on a daily basis.  Do people do that?

She asked me how I wanted my hair cut.  I told her the regular way.

She told me she was going to give me some style.

I’m not sure if she did.  But it was a nice haircut.  The only problem is that my bangs, the hair in the front, are really, really long.  This morning, on the way to church, I had to put them in a small banana clip to try to get my hair to dry in the away position rather than in my right eyeball.  As I walked down Morgan Street from the parking deck on our way to the sanctuary, I realized I had not removed the fastener from my head.  Stephanie was walking beside me, and we were having a conversation.

“Did you not realize the clip was still in my hair?” I asked.

“Yeah.  I sort of did,” she responded.

Did she just not put together that I don’t typically wear my hair in a partial ponytail or did she actually want me to walk into church looking like a 1980’s sorority girl?

Regardless, I now have a style, and I think I’ll go back because it was only $9 more than Supercuts.  And because Abbey has magic fingers.

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