You know how we all make rash decisions. You don’t give yourself time to think or dawdle. You simply ‘do!’ My second year of college, my roommates and I decided to go Berzerkely with our appearance. I got a nose ring. Kristen pierced her belly button. And Christina made the most impulsive decision because she shaved her head a la Britney Spears.
Those wild days are pretty much over for me, but every once in a while I still make on-the-spot decisions. I woke up yesterday, despising my hair. I’d had enough of clipping it back, bundling it into a ponytail, and wearing headbands.
I spent my lunch hour calling hair salons. No availability or out of my price range. My final call was to a stylist on Kearny a few blocks away from work. The cross street was Maiden Lane—prime location for upscale fashion and style. Someone answered in broken English. They could take me at 4pm for $22. Wow, I’d never heard of such an incredible deal. Book it!
When I walked into the ‘salon,’ I knew I’d made a mistake, but I was too polite to walk out. The hair stylist Darren must have defected immediately from the Japanese turmoil because he could barely understand when I spoke. He sat me down and started combing my hair with a plastic Conair brush—one of those cheap brushes that you get from Walgreen’s. He pulled out his scissors.
“Excuse me. Aren’t you going to wash my hair?”
“Oh, oh…ok, ok. I wash.” He smiled the whole time. I’m sure he was happy to be far away from radiation.
After the disturbing head wash—water got into both my ears and he scrubbed my scalp with his fingernails—he sat me back down again. He combed, then proceeded to cut my hair as a child would. He snipped, stood back, eyed his work, then snipped again, trying to get one side even with the other as my hair hung below my shoulders. “It’s just hair,” I calmed myself. “My hair grows fast. This isn’t the end of the world.”
I swear I was transported back to my childhood when my mom took us to Supercuts or Fantastic Sams. Cheap, quick, and they did a professional job.
What’s good enough for my mom is good enough for me. Chop it!
I have to admit, the end result was close to professional. The Japanese have an eye for precision. I gave Darren a generous tip. He smiled and handed me his business card. On the back was a grid of numbers. He’d written the date on line #1. “10 haircuts, 11 free, ok, ok?” He waved good-bye as I walked out the door.