One of my pet peeves – and a huge factor in my decision to dread my hair – is going to the salon. I know that for a lot of women a day at the shop chatting, reading magazines and napping is close to heaven. Not so much for yours truly. I don’t mind having my hair done, it’s the waiting that drives me crazy. I’ve never left a hairdresser because of a bad perm, a messed up hair cut, or anything related to my hair. I’ve ALWAYS left because of time – they forgot to write my appointment down and went home, they’re eating lunch and will be with me in just a minute, they scheduled 47 appointments in a 15 minute time frame, etc. etc.
Contrary to popular belief, dreads require maintenance and upkeep just like any other ‘do. And I am a complete failure at doing my own hair – relaxed or natural. So, yesterday at 4:30 I show up for my appointment – wash, deep conditioning under the dryer, twist, set under the dryer. I was anticipating (first mistake) being on my way home by 6:30. At the latest.
Nerd Girl: Hey y’all. How’s everybody?
Stylist : Hey girl. “Q” isn’t here – she had to run and pick up her daughter, she’ll be back in about 15 minutes
Nerd Girl (out loud): Oh, okay
Nerd Girl (inside her head): Aaaaaaaaaaargh! But 15 minutes isn’t too bad a delay. I’ll just get some stuff done while I wait . . .
So I get my bag out and set about doing a little busy work. I stuff 40 neighborhood get-together flyers into envelopes and seal them. I read a bridal magazine (??), two fashion magazines that I am completely unable to relate to, and pick up where I left off in “100 Years of Solitude.” Gee, I think – this is a long 15 minutes (sometimes, I do regret not wearing a watch). Anyhoo, I finally slip my cell phone out of my bag. It is 5:30. 15 minutes have somehow miraculously turned to 60. I call Smoochy. “Umm, I think I’m going to leave. She’s not here yet, and I don’t want to be here all night.” Smoochy tells me to reschedule and come on home – my time shouldn’t be disrespected like that. I’m feeling empowered. I’m generally so non-confrontational that actually walking up to the other stylist, telling her that I’m not going to wait any longer and leaving is a big deal for me. But I’m ready. I pack up my stuff, rehearse my speech, and prepare to leave.
“Q” bounces in the door. “Girl, I am so sorry! I had to pick my daughter up. Come on back.”
Nerd Girl: “Oh, that’s okay.”
And I put my bag down, went to the shampoo bowl and proceeded to get my hair done. I left the shop at 8:15. Angry, but cute.
And the bad part about it? I’ll go back. Because I don’t want to do my own hair. Because it’s not that easy to find someone who styles natural hair. Because my hair really does look good when she’s finished. Because I’m a push-over.