Yes. You're right. No.
It is not white hair that engenders wisdom. Apparently it is a high school degree, a cosmetology license, a Forever 21 top and a neck tattoo of a pair of scissors. If you love it, own it. Right?
The last time I got a haircut in Shelby, I almost lost an ear from a woman who lost her driver's license 15 years ago, and her astuteness not long after. I stopped her mid-cut after she mistook a 12 year old's black hair as my own. Note to all hairdressers: Please do not answer the phone in the middle of a job if you can't remember what chair to go back to. It tends to be unsettling to those vulnerable to your sharp, pointy tools. After a certain age, they should probably be considered a weapon. Just saying.
When choosing a hairdresser in Shelby, you have two options.
One, you can go back to the same old place where everybody knows your name, is glad you came, and all that jazz. Perks? They know your name. They're glad you came. Simple enough. Downside? They know your name. They know your parents. They know you just graduated. They want to hear all about your plans. Do you have a job? What was your degree, again? Do you still talk to those girls you used to hang out with? I just loved you girls. Do you miss being able to go on youth trips? Do you ever think about being a chaperone for any of the youth trips? You should be a chaperone for some of the youth trips. Are you going to the early service this Sunday? Do you have a boyfriend? Did you meet him at church?
Two, you can risk trying a new place. You may strike gold and end up in the styling hands of someone new in town. She just moved here, didn't go to Cleveland Community College and has no interest in the blinking question mark lingering above your head. Gold is the goal. However, with this risk, the stakes are high. Going into a new place, there is also the chance of landing in the chair of someone with a familiar face. You know them well. Their gel penned handwriting is in your yearbook. Your mortarboard sailed into the air just yards away from theirs. I don't know what color this option would be considered, but it is definitely not gold and it is definitely not the goal.
What's worse than being forced under the knife (scissors, whatever) of someone who feels compelled to encourage you that everything is just fine even though you don't have a job? Being held hair liable to someone who finally feels there is justice in this town now that their college graduated pupil doesn't have a clue as to what her future holds. I can hear the phone call they'll make to their mother as soon as I leave, "So what if I didn't go to college? Stephanie did, and she doesn't have a job. At least I have a job." Yes. You are so right. You do, in fact, have a job. However, you also have two illegitimate children and you got more action on the Ferris Wheel sophomore year of high school than I've ever gotten in my entire life. You just keep on winning.
Hairdresser: 1
College Graduate: 0
I tried my luck. What can I say? Big girl + Big feet + Big steps = Enormous strides in maturity. It's my new approach slash mathematic equation to life. I weally hope you wike it.
MONEY. Gold money, to be exact. The lady who greeted me did not sign my yearbook, nor did she show any evident signs of dementia.. or crime conviction. Score.
I warn her that my hair is deceiving, and she shouldn't try to "fix" it. There is no simple approach. She shouldn't try. Well, per usual, nobody listens to me. She gets mid-straighten before apologizing for not trusting me before. Boom. Das what I thought, lady. As she continues on the mission of all mission (Stephanie's fro), the girl she shares a room with brings in her next client. I avoid the fact that I went to high school with the fellow hairdresser. She seems to do likewise. I keep quiet to avoid talking about myself, who I am, how we may know each other, her newly uploaded wedding pics on her Facebook, and the fact that I know what she used to do in her free time. Boy, did she have a lot of free time.
As I sit there, hair being cut swivel by swivel, various conversations arise. Resisting every urge to contribute deductive reasoning, practicality and/or counter arguments, I sit in silence as the chair turns. This is not a soap opera, folks. This is real life.
Topics discussed during my visit:
- Gay marriage
- Gay Christians
- Whether or not "homosexness" is a choice
- Strippers
- Hunting
- Coach Outlets
- Summer weddings
- Dave Matthews Band
- Accordion players
- Hairdressers at other salons
- A dog bowl used as an offering plate
- Facebook
I have a lot of hair. I was there for a while.
After one remark about how "perhaps" some people don't feel welcome in the "number of Baptist options" Shelby has to offer and "may feel compelled" to "expand their horizons," I soon learned I was better off not speaking. What topic broke the awkward silence after that sweet little tidbit? Hunting. Oh, the irony.
First lesson learned? Ignorance isn't bliss. It is a hairstyle. The bottom half is black. The top is blonde. It isn't a blunt cut, but there are definitely some interesting angles. A lot of people in this town have it and wear it proudly. They carry the diversity in their hair rather than their hearts and political views.
Second lesson learned? Appreciate the gold when you find it, but realize sometimes it may just be better to talk about your wittle old, jobless self. You think you'll probably be busy every week and/or weekend the youth group is looking for a chaperone, but you really appreciate the opportunity. You lived just down the street from a church for the past few years, and really enjoyed living where you did. Thank you for all the questions, but the game is over. Thanks for playing.