8/7/03
Rock & Roll, babe.
I owe you seven dollars.
We can pay for it today!
Her hair smells like cherries.
Over and over and over again.
Over and over and over again.
Lyrics from the latest Ciba Mato recording? Nope. Allie was singing this as we walked back from the store this evening. I was pushing a stroller with Julia and Allie was dawdling behind singing her songs. She was singing them very loudly. As our little parade marched by, people were coming out on their front porches with their hands sheltering their eyes. They were searching the horizon for some tremendous sky-bourne loudspeaker vibrating the Hummel figurines in their curio cabinets.
Turns out it was just a set of three-year-old lungs cranked to eleven.
I got a haircut this afternoon. There were two people cutting hair at the place in the mini-mall where I go to get videos, hard to find batteries, bad Chinese food and my hair cut. One was a lady who looked to be in her mid-fifties. She was well-scrubbed, neatly dressed and seemed highly qualified to get my hair above my ears and off my collar.
The other person looked like a Tim Burton drawing.
She had a dress that could have doubled for a hospital gown. Her dark hair was long, fried, poofed with a year's worth of split ends and tied up in scary pig tails that jutted from the top of her head. She had small cuts and bruises near the tribal tattoos on her right bicep. The left bicep, closer to her elbow, had a fresh welt or burn. Her legs were thin and frail with the same types of bruises she had on her arms. I think she couldn't have been much more than thirty however she looked well past that mark.
"Please, God. Don't let the scary lady cut my hair. Don't let the scary lady cut my hair. I'll be good. Just don't let the scary. . ." you get the idea.
I put Allie in the chair next to mine. She insists on watching me get my hair cut. Most of the time this is a bit of pain, but this time I wanted her there in case something happened to me. If scary haircut lady decided to pull a Sweeny Todd on me maybe Allie could make it to the door and get help before I bled out on to the floor.
When I sat down, I caught a whiff of scary haircut lady's breath. She had been drinking. Aren't hair stylists held to the same standards as airline pilots? You can't cut hair drunk for crying out loud. Think of the trauma one false move could cause. I was just about to get out of the chair when I caught a glimpse of scary haircut lady's eyes. They looked very tired. Not hung over. Weary. As if me bailing on her before she could get the hair cape around my neck would be the straw that sent her over the edge. I'd get up and say, "I've changed my mind. No thank you." and her knees would buckle and she'd start sobbing. I couldn't have that.
So I held my breath at points where I thought I might encounter hers. It didn't help much, but the effort made the time in the chair seem to pass by faster.
Then we started talking. It was pleasant conversation. Of course it led to me talking about the new baby and how Allie was dealing with the change in the family. She told me all about her cool looking purple plastic tank watch and how it rained in town but stayed dry over the salon. She was nice. What's more, she did a really good job with my hair.
Is this another, "Don't judge a book by its cover" lesson?
No.
I got lucky I caught scary haircut lady before the last four gin and tonics before the shift change. Just because I discovered she was pleasant (buzzed?) and a qualified stylist doesn't mean I want to sit in that chair again and let her breath on me. I'm saying, clean yourself up scary haircut lady! You work in a place that deals in human aesthetics. Look like you're at least able to empathize with your customers' need to look nice for their school pictures. Okay?
I'm forgetting about something I wanted to tell you about. Oh well. If I remember it I'll post it on the blog.