As I had my head carefully and consciously massaged by the careful hands of an expert, my neck cradled in curves I couldnt help but hope that the description id provided her with would be enough to yield the desirable effect on my hair. Hair dressers and I dont get along. At all.
But she chattered away, she was careful, she was nice and she had a stud on her nose. Left side I believe. The haircut was fine but the true meat of it, beyond her life story (some of which included the fact that her parents were divorced, both had married, the fact that she had attended state school for a while before deciding that running her fingers through peoples hair was her calling or that she had possibly the coolest hair ive seen) was the management. How does an extremely upscale hair care center (god forbid we call it a hair salon) survive in a barely regentrified neighborhood?
Management.
The moment you walk in the idea is to blast you away with a subtle combination of unfinished surfaces and the latest models of hair driers and what looks like obgyn’s seat doubling as a pedicure throne. But no matter, the importance lies on the details. The little white rocks on the counter, the courteous and pleasant, almoust flirtatious staff reveling about the presence of a heterosexual man in their midst. Thats not to say they behaved like girls at an all girls school where yours truly has had the experience of being oggled and eye-eaten many times. I dont pride myself on my looks but i hope my point is getting across.
The management walks you down the stairs. The management walks you down the stairs. (Is it them caring about me or me suing them in case i strip and dont have a short 100 pound beauty to hang on to. The odds of her supporting my 200 pound fram are slim at best). And with a swift backrub, head massage, look over by the manager (yes, a hair manager) youre done and ready to go. Included in the price is the little tip envelope you may adress and personalize to your hair stylist. A bubbly young woman who had graduated the night before but had nonetheless two more weeks of schooling to go. The main source of concern deriving form this concerned the 5th of July. How to drive back from Maryland shore through Jersey at 630 am on the 5th to make it to class by 830 while possibly still, completely, utterly, redonkoulously black out drunk. Aaaaa the questions. But as a smiled and nodded and said confidently: just dont go to sleep, drink some coffee and lots of water i thought to myself.
The carnival of recks, streaked mascara, untamed hair and baggy eyes that would ensue that day at hair school would be terrifying. No amount of management manages the employees on the fourth. An interesting thought. To the men who give us prohibition heres a toast, a smile and hope that nobody asks us who the founding fathers were (Kennedy? Franklin?) because to that we would reply with a blue collar response: U.S.A.! with our balled up fists to either side of our heads, the drunken haze already blurring our vision.
So heres to a day of foreplay where everyone still pretends that something extraordinary will happen on friday. In truth only the ordinary will. People, merriment, red white and blue and fireworks. Pretty lights distracting us from the fact that the management is about to change, our jobs are on the line and all we can do is look around and hope that those we care about are standing next to us.
