I drove over to the Fantastic Sam's by my house today, where Stacy got her hair cut a few weeks ago. The hairstylists all seemed to be nice, sweet ladies, which is why I decided to go there, but when I got to the shop a little after 4:30, there was a sign on the door: 5/24 - We will be closing at 5 pm today for the holiday weekend. I pulled open the door, poked my head inside, and asked the lady at the front desk, "Am I too late?"
She screwed up her face. "A little," she said apologetically. "Yes."
"It's okay," I said, "I can come back some other time."
"Come back Tuesday!" she called after me. "Ladies' cut for only $10.95."
"Oh, okay," I nodded. "I'll do that."
But I wanted to get my hair cut today, and I also realized that I might not have time on Tuesday, so I started driving to the State Bridge Kroger, where there's a SuperCuts that I've gotten my hair cut at before. On the way, though, I passed the Publix shopping center, and there was a Hair Cuttery, so I just decided to go there, since it was closer to home. Besides, I told myself, it'll be good to go somewhere I've never been. Character building.
So I parked the car and went inside, where one of the ladies told me to sign my name on the waiting list and take a seat, someone would be right with me. An 40s-ish guy was sitting by the window waiting, too, so I went over to the magazine rack and pulled out a magazine. I thought it was Cosmopolitan magazine, but I could only see the half the cover; it was CosmoGirl!, instead. I immediately felt silly when I pulled it out, especially when I saw that Christina Aguilera was on the cover. I said aloud--for some reason feeling the need to justify my magazine choice--"Christina... interesting." Then realized I was just being silly; the old guy sitting a few seats down from me didn't care, anyway. So I sat down, and contented myself with reading an article on "how to be a better kisser."
While I was waiting, one of the hairstylists, a tall black woman who was rather severe-looking, finished cutting the hair of this girl in front of me. I watched as she rung her up at the counter. The girl was your typical blond, Abercrombie-wearing teenager, and as she ruffled her wet, curly strawberry blond hair in an attempt to make it drier (or poofier, I'm not sure), the hairstylist looked at her as if she could tell the girl wasn't entirely satisfied with it. "Turn around," the hairstylist ordered, and after a bit of scrunity said, "It looks good."
"I'm just not used to having it this short," the girl said. (Her hair wasn't short. It was below her shoulder.)
"You told me to take an inch and a half off, and that's what I did," said the hairstylist matter-of-factly, as she handed back the change. "Have a good holiday weekend, and come back and see us again," she said, not particularly cheerfully.
She walked back to her chair, and I thought to myself, "I hope I don't get her." A nicer-looking Hispanic lady, short and brown-haired, poked her head out from behind a wall. "Have you signed in?" she asked me.
"Yes," I replied, and she said, "I'll be right with you." But after a few minutes she had disappeared somewhere, and the black lady came back, looking at me and a young girl who was sitting on the chairs, waiting for her dad to pick her up.
"Neither of you need haircuts, right?"
"I do," I said, standing up.
"Oh," she said. She talked so quickly and so brusquely that it took me a few tries before I understood that she was asking for my name.
"Jennifer," I replied, and pointed to it on the sheet. She crossed me off, and motioned for me to follow her.
"Do you need a shampoo?" she asked.
"Um..." I hesitated. Do I need a shampoo? No, I suppose not. Do I want a shampoo? Sure, if you're going to charge me the same price for it as if I didn't get one. But I didn't say that.
"Do you need a shampoo?" she repeated, impatiently.
"No, that's okay," I said finally.
"Are you sure?" she asked, and I nodded affirmation. Fingering the ends of my hair, she asked me how I wanted it cut. "I'd just like it chin-length, with a little bit of layers..."
But she cut me off: "Come over here. I'm just going to wet your hair down." She directed me over to the sinks, and I sat quietly as she wet my hair, splashing some water on my clothes in the process, and ran some conditioner through it. She wrapped it in a towel and said, "Hold this," as she walked me back over to the chair.
She asked me again, "Now how do you want it cut?" I started to explain again, but she said, "Honey, I have no idea what you want." I tried again, meekly explaining that I basically just wanted a chin-length bob.
"Okay, I got it," she said finally, though I wasn't sure she got it at all. She started sweeping my hair up in clips.
After a silence, I added, "I'm going to Europe in a week, and I just want something... low-maintenance." We chatted a little about study abroad and where I went to school, but I was a little intimidated by her, and I was also still sick and not feeling well, so it wasn't long before I fell silent again. So she started talking with the other hairstylists, and soon was ranting about one of her coworkers.
"Close up the register for me, will you? I've been the one always closing up lately, and I don't want to go home late today. I've got to get home to my father, take care of him. The only reason Sarah gets away with working only one day a week is because no one enforces the hours. She's so irresponsible; we all have to cover for her."
I listened to her angry diatribe, sitting quietly as she pulled the comb roughly through my hair. She was hurting my head, a little, but I didn't say anything. When she was done cutting my hair, she stepped back to look at her work. I straightened up quickly in my chair and said, "That's looks good, thank you."
She took the blowdryer and blew some of the hair off my shirt. "Yes, it does. Layers look cute on you." Then she said, "I just gave you a $40 haircut for $13. I just wanted you to know that."
"Thank you," I said, because I didn't know what else to say. I stood up and watched as she took the broom and swept up my hair.
"Go up to the counter and have your money ready, I'll be there in a second," she said. After she finished sweeping up, she walked over to the window, where she switched off the OPEN light hanging on the window. She came over, and I handed her a $20-bill. She typed some stuff into the computer, and then did the same thing as she did with the girl before. "Turn around," she said, surveying the back. "I want to make sure it's even. That'll be thirteen dollars."
I turned back around. "You can just give me three dollars back," I said.
"Thank you," she said, seeming to appreciate my generous tip. "My name is Betty. Come back and see us."
"Thanks," I replied, and added, "Have a good Memorial Day weekend."
I thought I saw her brighten up a little. "You have a great day, too," she called after me, in the most pleasant voice I'd heard her use yet. "Enjoy yourself in Europe."