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Thursday, February 24, 2011

The Price of Beauty



Ask anyone who knows me and they will tell you my hair is the most important feature in the general makeup as it pertains to me as a human being. First my hair, then bodily hygiene, and then somewhere way down the list is morals, respect and dignity.

In days of old I did not, let me repeat; DID NOT!, play messaround when it came to getting my hair did. I simply did not have a problem cutting a bitch if that coif did not come out perfect.
The problem I have now is that I am poor. It sucks to be poor not because of the struggle to pay bills, or not having the best material things. It sucks because you have to get your hair cut at the beauty school.

For those not in the know, let me educate you on the beauty school setting. The beauty school is usually located in the bad part of town. If you pass a hobo camp you have gone too far. If you pass a homeless shelter you have not gone far enough. Right in between these establishments lies the beauty school.
Step inside and you are immediately hit with the smell of peroxide, nail polish remover and the tears of dozens of young women and gay men who could not pass English 101.
I will admit the momentary high from the chemicals is pleasing, but soon you are escorted to your chair, surrounded by hundreds of scalped and stained mannequin heads that seem to be frozen in fear of being highlighted and permed.

My first experience with a beauty school was just a couple of years ago when I was on my break from work. I had an hour to get my hair cut and get back. Knowing there was never a wait at the school and that the cost was only $5 plus maybe a couple of bucks as a tip, I ventured inside.
The student I was assigned to was Rosalinda. Rosalinda was a recent transplant to this country whose English vocabulary was made up of the words; yes and okay.
I was prepared because I had brought with me a snapshot of Ryan Seacrest who had the perfect textured bed-head style I was looking for,,,this is not the funny part!
Unfortunately me handing the picture of Seacrest to Rosalinda, and her looking bewildered, would be the extent of our conversation. Rosalinda nervously circled my chair and examined every aspect of my head. By the look on her face I couldn't tell if she was nervous or was contemplating being struck with a sudden case of diarrhea.
The circling went on for about 15 minutes. She would take regular breaks to examine the picture or stare uncomfortably down at the floor. By this time I only had 30 minutes left to finish up the hair cut and God only knew how long that would take.
I made eye contact with Rosalinda and slowly, and very politely I might add, said in a soft voice; do you think I might be able to sit with a student that speaks English?
This was Rosalinda's cue to burst into tears and plop herself down in the chair next to me. Several students and a school administrator rushed to her side and comforted her while I awkwardly sat beside her.

I was escorted two chairs down. My new student was a very happy-looking Asian girl with a wide smile on her face. "well at least less chance of crying" I thought. "Thanks for helping me" I said "I really didn't mean to cause a problem" although she probably didn't hear me over Rosalinda's continued sobbing. "It's OK Rosalinda, he is not very nice" the administrator whispered in a not so quiet way. I pushed aside the fact that I was not six feet away from the bereavement going on at Rosalinda's chair. Nor was I deaf for that matter!

I gave my new stylist a look that said I BEG OF YOU, PLEASE HELP ME. "I just need a quick cut and I will be on my way" I offered. "My stylist's response to this was to giggle and put her hands over her face. "You want haircut"? she asked, which I kind of thought was implied seeing as though I was strapped to a stylists chair, covered in a black plastic sheath with my hair soaking wet. "You want haircut?, I cut your hair" and again she giggled and hid behind her hands.

WHAT THE HELL MAN? Was this the ELLIS ISLAND SCHOOL OF BEAUTY? It had now been 45 minutes and not a single hair had been cut from my head. I calmly got up and took off the black covering and strolled into the business office and asked for my money back. I was told to sit in the waiting room and wait on the administrator to come out.
I wasn't trying to attempt a corporate takeover of the beauty school so I am not really sure why it took ten minutes to refund my five dollars, but the administrator finally did come out hand me the five back and bent down to whisper, "we ask that you not return to this school, thank you" I took the money and walked out but I thought to myself, was she serious? Did she really think I was racing home to try to weasel my way into another appointment?

As I got into my car I couldn't help but wonder what exactly had just happened? In 45 minutes I had managed to crush the dreams of a beauty school immigrant and had effectively been banned from the establishment from unleashing my hate on anyone there ever again. If I walked away with anything from that experience it is just knowing that beauty does come at a price. It just isn't five dollars.

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