Its been long overdue, so I decided to go to a hair salon. I
forgot to take an appointment, as its always last minute and dear receptionist
asked to wait for just 5 minutes, and you know how long 5 minutes can take
sometimes. While I was waiting, and reading some nonsense Fashion magazine from
last year and hearing the person next to me cribbing about her MIL, another lady
come up at the reception desk. I hadn’t even finished scanning her from top to
bottom and wondering, what the hell she needs to get done, she looks like she
is just out from a Salon, she whisked right in without waiting. Making me feel like,
Why should I have to wait so much? Am I not paying for the service? Or should I
get that damn membership that the reception lady always advises me to get?
Sulking in the corner.
Anyways, after few five minutes later, the receptionist
asked, who do you want to get styled with, Stylist, Senior Stylist, Style
Director, or a Creative Director. If you want to go with the Junior Stylist, he
will be with you right away, but since you didn’t book prior with Senior
Stylist, you might have to wait. Yeah right, I know how busy he is sipping
coffee and counting money.
I felt like I guinea pig choosing a Junior Stylist. What
does that term mean beside a little lesser charges, anyways. Ok I understand he
is less experienced, but it makes me feel cheap choosing that service and also
he might just be a newbie, with no experience what so ever. There is no going
back with haircuts, no warranties, no guarantees, no return policy.
I still chose the lowest priced service available holding my
wallet tight and counting my blessings. So a trendy looking metrosexual guy
with hair highlights walked up to me, introduced himself and asked me what I
wanted. While he checked the volume, checked the texture, checked the length
and checked the scalp, I was shivered nervously whether I passed his standards
or not. What if I am denied a haircut today?
The red horned one, on one shoulder said, “Get a Perm done. It can’t get
past unnoticed with I-could-care-less-husband of mine”
While the winged and harped one on the other shoulder spoke
some sense, “Don’t do what you did last time. Just say that can be tied later
and let him decide the rest. Don’t wake up your sleeping brains now.”
“Can you please get up and come to the hair wash area. We
need to shampoo.” B..but..I …d…on’t …need…” He looks in horror at my bohemian
style, unmanaged, unkept hair and I stood up silently and walked towards the
wash area. I sniffed silently in my tissue at the humiliation.
We came back to the hair cut area and a man was getting
groomed next to me. The kind that always fascinate me and inspire me to groom
better. While I get my hair done, he is resting with his green facepack and
cotton balls covering his eyes. I wish I could see his face and judge him.
He asked me the same question, I get asked every time I am
in a Salon, in an attempt to engage me in small talks and showing off how
caring he is about his customers. I don’t need small talks, please concentrate
on my hair and that’s how I will know you care.
But as he showed me how much length he is going to cut,
there should be a written contract with picture to support the claims. He cut
as he wished and then showed me if its okay, like I can go back. Few minutes of
serious blow-drying business later, he showed it to me again with a back
mirror. I felt happy with my hair cut, as I always do the first day with half a
bottle of each factory product in my hair, and as much time spent on my hair as
much as I do the whole week in total.
I get back home and ask Mr Husband, “So?” He looks up from
his laptop, takes a quick glance and says,”Nice. Have you found that bill I was
telling you about anywhere?”