Hairstyle
Call me fussy-I finally found a place to have my hair cut. This is important. Believe it or not, I have found that most hair stylists only know how to cut curly hair, whereas mine is straight. Alike many others, I would assume that cutting straight hair would be predictably easy. Instead, I have found that most stylists are merely just hair shapers and cannot figure out how to shape my straight hair.
<So, upon finding an adequate place is great importance>
Additionally, call me stereo-typish-I figured the way to find a stylist who would be able to cut straight hair would be a stylist who had straight hair him or herself. Elizabeth and I were waltzing around a small stereotypical Asian neighborhood in Brooklyn and wandered by a stereotypical hair saloon filled with stereotypical Asian hair stylists. Peering into the windows, I noticed that there were also Asian people sitting in the chairs getting their hairs styled. Quickly, I came to the conclusion that they were probably going to be able to tackle the task of also cutting my stereotypical Asian straight hair.
<The first couple of visits were a little shaky>
Initially, a stylist named Alex cut my hair. He did well, but I was not really happy with it. The hair looked fine. But resting atop my head made my head seem, more or less, fat. Yes, I had a fat head.
And, I had to walk around like that for about three weeks until my hair finally outgrew the style. I don't know what possessed me to wander back into that salon, but my hair seemed to be getting out of control again, and we were wandering around the same neighborhood, once again, Elizabeth looked at me, played with my hair a little and asked, "You know what?"
<We found ourselves, again, sitting in the waiting area of this salon>
Elizabeth noted that I should choose a different stylist. I noted that that would be impossible. She asked why. I had to remind her of the Hairstylist Rule. I think that there is some unspoken rule where a hair stylist can feel territorial-After having a client, it would probably be considered rejection and an insult if that client were to go somewhere else to get their hair cut; a definite sign of disapproval indeed. Like I noted, it's not really a spoken rule, but it just feels like some sort of rule.
Elizabeth looked a little uneasy, "I think it would be okay. Maybe just this once. It's not that you were a steady customer of his."
"But the rule. I can't break the rule."
"Ummm.. maybe. But you don't want to walk around with a fat head again do you?"
"No."
"You're gonna…if you let him touch your head again. He's gonna think that you like the fat head look, so he'll just touch it up. Really. That's how it works. Listen just pick a different stylists. Hmm…" She looked around and pointed to a different one, "Ohh…look, she cut my hair the last time. She's good."
I looked over and shyly acknowledged what she said.
"Listen, I'm gonna go up the street and do a little window shopping."
"Nu -uhhh," I answered, "I'm not going through this rule breaking alone. Nu-uhhh. Nope. Can you just stay? Please?"
Before she answered, we both looked around and noticed something peculiar-no Alex. No Alex anywhere. His booth was there. It was empty. No person sitting in the chair. No Alex anywhere. (That rhymed-I know).
"See? You have nothing to worry about," Elizabeth smiled and slapped my knee, "I'm gonna go. I'll be back in about a half-hour. You should be done by then." She smiled and gave me a peck on the cheek. She pointed over to the chosen stylist, "Her. She's the one. Remember, she does a good job," waited for my nod and headed out the door.The hair-washer-person called me over. She sat me down in a chair and wrapped a nylon apron around my neck. Before she started the washing process, she asked me who was to cut my hair. I unguiltingly pointed to the stylist that Elizabeth suggested. Alex wasn't really present, so I figured, what other choice did I have? The Hairstylists Rule did not apply. Anyhow, the newly appointed stylist overheard us and acknowledgingly nodded. I reclined back into the seat and the washing proceeded.
After the rigorous ritual, I sat up and the hair-washer-person proceeded to rub my head dry with a towel. During the head rubbing, I could see through blurred vision, a figure of a person proceeding from the back doorway walking toward the front and that figure seemed like Alex. I wasn't sure. It sort of looked like him-sort of-same figure, same walk. The head rubbing finally concluded, my vision sharpened, and lo and behold, it was Alex resting by his salon seat, and to my horror, had noticed me, smiled and gave a small wave. I wasn't sure if he was just waving to me, but it sure look like he was waving me over. Yep, he was waving me over. I was only able to let out a small hehe and a half-small wave when the newly appointed stylist was ready for me at this time and verbally let that be known across the salon. Errrr….it was slightly awkward.
Anyhow, the hairstyle came out descent.
<PS-I now have the short to medium length, pushed forward slicked with gel, feathered looking, little slimmer than fat head look>
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