Bad Hair Day

Why do bad things always happen to me? This was the only thought on my mind today as I sat in front of a mirror at my hair dresser’s. Let me recap.

I’d been thinking of getting a haircut for a while. Just a haircut, no big deal. So off I went today, to the same ‘beauty parlour’ I’ve been going to since I was an atom. It’s a homey little place, run by a frail middle aged woman who watches Malayalam soaps as she watches over as her assistants beautify her customers. It was a busy day; the assistant girls were running around, picking up this and that. One was bend over a young girl, dutifully scraping off her bushman eyebrows with a tricky little arrangement consisting of a long thread held tight between her teeth. The technician twists this thread with her hands and runs it over her customer’s eyebrows, pulling out each eyebrow hair. The sight reminded me of the time when I allowed myself to be tortured thus once. Ouch! The things women have to do make themselves appealing to hairy men. Do men even care about eyebrows? Has anyone asked?

The beauty parlour matron looked up from a facial she was supervising and asked me what I wanted to do. Haircut… a U or a step ? “Hmm.. I don’t know” , I stammered. I tried my best to explain the vague idea that I had fantasized over with carefully chosen words and wild hand movements. “Get a U cut’ she said. “No I want a little flare here and some layer here and I ..” I started off again. The assistant who was waiting to pluck my feathers looked anxiously at me and then her mistress. Sensing the desperation, I gave up.“oh never mind, just cut it off ”

The haircutting section was familiar territory to me. I looked to see if the calendar with twelve Chinese faces demonstrating hairstyles unattainable by normal people was still in place. Yup, there it was, right where I can stare at it while I got my miserable mane cut off. The hair dresser sat me down on the chair and covered me up with a yellow protective fabric with a cool Velcro strap to hold it in place around my neck. She then proceeded to spray and shake up my head. I relaxed and started flipping the magazine in front of me. I feel so important!

Then the battle started.

Ever noticed how after an unpleasant experience, our mind forgets it very fast or dims the memory a little? Then you will find yourself spot on the same situation again and the recollection will hit you on your face with a saucepan. Well that’s what happened as the hairdressing started. The woman pulled my poor hair, pushed my head down and poked me on the scalp with a stupid clip as she tried to hold my hair in place! I had gone through all this before and suddenly realized why I hadn’t got a hair cut in the last six months.

The mild torture was interrupted as she called in another assistant to hold my hair up as she cut around it. There we were, these two women holding up my hair as I watched at the mirror half amused and half anxious. As this circus was going on, a messenger arrived. Someone had called for one of the hair dressers (the main one of course) looking down on me; her mother was sick and she was wanted at home. The scissors shook in the woman’s hands. “Oh damn! My hair..”

“Who called? Why didn’t you tell me earlier?, I heard the phone ringing ten minutes ago…” the affected woman yelled at the girl who brought the message. I looked about the room, petrified. “er… maybe someone else could finish this ..” I suggested feebly. “I can’t go now, I have to finish this, its hair; I can’t leave it midway” the hairdresser declared, without paying me any attention. The woman has no intention of leaving to see her ailing mother; probably on her death bed, waiting for one last look at her daughter. I was screwed. Why? Why me? The lady kept cutting my hair at an unnatural pace. I looked at the mirror anxiously as she aired her grievances in an agitated voice to all around. Snip snip snip. I will be lucky to get out of here with my head in one piece.

Of all the people in the world, this had to happen to me. The old bat had to fall sick while her daughter was cutting my hair; my hair which hadn’t been cut for six months. The snipping continued, interrupted at intervals by more phone calls. Finally with another flourish it was almost done. “Is this fine? Do you want me to cut a little more off the back?’ the ‘aggrieved’ daughter asked cheerfully. “Ah, no it’s just the way I wanted” I said without a glance and jumped out of the chair. Phew!