No, I can't afford $500 a cut to go to Jonathan Antin, so I venture forth to my local salon. The one by work. The one with the Lamar's Donuts conveniently located next door, so I can get cut and get some "lunch" on my way back to work. A chocolate cream-filled long john qualifies as lunch, right? In my world it does. But I digest...er, I mean digress...
So I went to get my hair cut yesterday, and as I walked into the salon, I noticed that the linoleum floor had been painted. With lots of bright, retina-burning colors. In big splashes. That stopped just short of the front reception desk. "Cool floor" I exclaimed, really not knowing what else to say. And not mentioning the fact that the thick black stripes that had previously adorned the floor were peeking through the new paint treatment. "Thanks!" said the eccentric new owner of the salon, decked out in her low-cut mumu and Pippy-like pigtails (did I mention she was eccentric?), "We finished it late last night". Okay...
As my stylist steered me over to her chair and started the obligatory small talk, I mentioned the floor. She got down close to my ear and started giving me the scoop, in hushed whispers. The owner had, over the weekend, decided to paint the floor of the entire salon. She and her cohorts had entered into the back of the salon, begun painting with a vengence towards the front of the salon, until they realized that their purses (and car keys) were in their purses. In the back of the salon. Across the sea of wet paint. And the back door was locked, thus barring any "run around the building to the back door" solution.
They had called my stylist to have her come let them in. When she got there, she noticed the very strong smell of the polyurethane wafting from the salon. She whispered, "I'm surprised we didn't find them passed out here this morning from all those fumes!". THAT would have made an interesting story, eh?
This new owner is a strange bird of the wildest variety. She's a wannabe artist. But not a good one. Her hair cutting station is decked out with a variety of artistic touches, including a fabric wrap around her chair. I can't imagine how much old hair lives in that stylish wrap. Ew!
Also, I was in another time when she rushed in, in a frenzied state, picked up a little hammer-like tool and hit a gong that I hadn't seen sitting there by the front desk. The noise was deafening (the salon is not that large) and the receptionist and I had to wait for the din to finish (it lasted for about 20 seconds!) before we could finish my transaction. My face had an straight expression of "Oh sure, I see gongs in many stores that I visit on a regular basis...no big deal...yawn", but I nearly peed my pants from the shock of the noise! And she stood there, eyes closed, taking a yoga-like cleansing breath. A gong! Many Gong Show jokes come to mind, but that's just too easy.
It will be about five weeks until my next haircut. I can't imagine what my next visit will expose me to, but I'll bet it will be blog-worthy.