The young woman who cuts my hair lately has been doing a pretty good job. I met her because I had a hair disaster a while back and she was my saving grace. I went in for a cut at a training school (mistake! mistake! cheap ass mistake!) and came out looking like George Michael circa 1985, complete with bouffant. It was one of those cuts that everyone gives you a fake smile in the salon and says "Oh.. that’s a... GREAT CUT". I knew it wasn't, I hated it. As soon as I was out of the place I pulled out my hat, went down 5 blocks and into the nearest salon that did not have a bad name like "Palace of Elegance". There behind the counter was a young blonde Brooke Hogan look alike complete with extensions. Not a fan of Brooke Hogan but when on a budget and desperate, beggars can't be choosers. She was bubbly, chatty and did exactly what I asked to fix the cut. The whole affair was reasonably priced and I was sold. She had a new client.
Yesterday I went for my monthly haircut because my mom is coming into the city and I wanted to look nice for her. Brooke Hogan greeted me with smiles, had my hair washed and met up with me at her station. I knew something was wrong with her when she distractedly asked "Do I use clippers with your hair?" instantly I replied "NO!!". She shrugged and started combing my hair back and forth, back and forth, preparing it for the shears.Trying to start a light conversation I asked her how her Mojito party went from the previous time. She paused.
" I just broke up with my boyfriend, I had to move out, I don't live there anymore" she gathered a bunch of my hair up and SNIP off went a good inch (when your hair is short to begin with an inch is a lot).
"Oh I am sorry to hear that, that sucks." I feigned interest. I really did not have the patience to hear my hairdresser's story seeing as after the cut I was going to meet my best friend to talk about her break up drama (which I actually care about).
"We went out for 4 years"
SNIP, chunk gone.
" I knew him for10. I mean it’s like I don't know we had different goals...(snip) he was a pot head....(snip) I have never been alone...(snip, snip, snip) " the more she talked the balder I was becoming. I didn't know what to do I was in a state of hair cut panic. I am the type of person who never interrupts a hairdresser because one bad snip and you can get cut, lose a chuck of hair, an ear or who knows what- those are some sharp weapons in their hands.
When I thought the torture ended- she continued on and talked about being single- just what every single gay man wants to hear about. Next thing I knew I was was being sheered like a lamb with the same damn buzzer we discussed her NOT using. Looking like a deer in headlights I shakily replied "uh huh..." to her every quip.
ZZZEEEUMMM up my neck.
"Is my hair line going to be halfway up my head! please stop there, I like the line natural the way you usually do it" I weakly pleaded.
"Oh, its okay I was just fixing it" (by the way my neck still burns from that stroke).
I was now freaking out- this is my fucking HAIR! I have to WALK AROUND with this shit in PUBLIC. I am single and can't afford to look like a freak with a bad haircut. I was done and decided to stop her since it was pretty much over and anything futher would have left me ready for the Army.
Next she turned me sideways and ZEEEUMM.
Off with my sideburns.
"OK! That’s good , thanks you can stop there!" I touched the soft patch of red skin where my sideburns used to be. “You took off my side burns..." I quivered wanting to cry.
"Oh.... I thought you said you wanted me too. I mean you always come in here and they are such a mess, I can't stand that. I thought you wanted me to clean them up." For the record, I never said anything about my sideburns. I like my sideburns. I had no idea she thought they were a "mess".
"Clean them up is different than taking them off " I smiled, killing her with kindness.
"Oh... Sorry hun, well, next time I'll just trim them."
She brushed off the curls that lay around me. "Product?"
I hate this part- they always put way too much, don't know how the fuck to style my hair and then try and force my curls to go a different way and say they love the look. I figured I had no curls left so what was there to lose. She took out half the tub and worked it into my head and then did the usual force of the hair unnatural ways and said "I just love this length and this curly messy look!". Um, what curls? what length? I had no hair left!
Suddenly excited she declared "Hey! next time you want to grab a drink at that place you mentioned with Mojitos, give me a call! I'll give you my number!" she flipped her hair extensions and trotted off to get her card. I guess now that I was bald she felt better.
Ok the girl is nice, I tipped her well, she means well, she was just a mess this time... I hope. Now because of that break up, my hair is a mess. Wagin told me it’s very "boyish". I am too old for boyish. Wagin assured me that it doesn't look bad. I asked her if she would really tell me if it was- because everyone knows they wouldn't really tell someone a haircut looks awful. Wagin shifted her eyes around and looked away "OF COURSE, don't be silly...hair grows back". Not too sure my trust in Brooke Hogan will.
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