Friday, 30 January 2009

Coiff & Co.

Another sunny day. Hooray! Time to do something that I have been putting off for some time, a haircut.
I walked into town to the new location of the hair salon that I visited last year.
It is now in premises about 3 times the size.
Open the door, glasses steam up instantly. Young girl (probably not at lycee today due to the strikes) greets me. I make my demands for a cut and I am told that there will be a longish wait. That is not a problem I say.
There is no obvious waiting area so I hover about, looking out of the window.
This will obviously not do, and one of the 2 stylists waves her arm towards a cupboard and one of the chairs in front of a mirror. I spot a large notice on a pole which tells you what to do.
Remove your coat and put it in the cupboard
Take a smock out of the cupboard and put it on
Take a seat and wait

I follow the rules and swivel on my chair to watch what is going on. Eventually it is my turn. Other people have popped into the salon but they are not prepared to wait and will return later. Unless you make a reservation we cannot guarantee you a slot at the time that you come back, the stylist says. No one makes an appointment.
I have my hair washed. This seems to be compulsory, despite having washed my hair less than 2 hours previously. Before the washing, I am asked my family name. I spell it, and it is written onto a yellow pad. I wonder if they are the French branch of the Sweeney Todd family and that this information will allow them to contact the next of kin should an ear or anything else be sliced off inadvertently. The girl disappears behind me and there is a whispered conversation. She reappears and rips the page off the pad, folds it up and puts it in a pocket located high up on the left sleeve of my smock. Now at lease if I should get lost or collapse between the basin and the cutting chair they will know my family name.
I have my cut and as usual I am asked if it is ok. I put on my glasses and say Yes. I then ask if anyone ever says no. Now this could go horribly wrong and she still has scissors in her hand but I have always had a reckless streak.
Fortunately she is okay with this bit of banter and says that Yes it happens sometimes, but not often.
I quit while I still have a head or should it be while I am still ahead?Once I get home, I happen to see my reflection in the wardrobe mirror. I look like a pineapple with flyaway hair or a mandarin duck. An improvement, even if I do say so myself.

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