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?”