Surviving the Salon for Dummies

Today, I spent my day at a salon. I’d been putting off getting my hair done for weeks but this week, I’ve been so idle that I decided to just do it. The salon guy was happy to see me. ‘Where have you been?’ ‘I… travelled.’ Salon workers are always happy to see me. I’m the girl that walks in confused. I buy the weave they recommend and do the style they recommend by the hairdresser they recommend. Usually they just find a weave-on that hasn’t really sold and they say, ‘This one is the latest. It will fit you because of your complexion and the shape of your face and it doesn’t tangle. Ah! This one can last, You will use it a hundred times and dash it to your sister.’

 

Then they’ll pair me with an apprentice hairdresser, inevitably inefficient and I’ll sit there for hours, wondering if I should complain.

Today, there was no apprentice in sight. Just the guy in charge. ‘What style do you want to make?’ he asks. I shrug. ‘I have a new weavon I want to fix on you. Rose Deep. It’s beautiful.’ Aha! Didn’t I use Rose Deep three years ago? Thanks, but I brought my own extension. ’‘what’s the name?’ he asks. ‘It’s Brazilian.’ I show it to him. ‘It’s not Brazilian.’ He laughs. I can’t tell Brazilian hair from Chinese or Indian. I don’t care. ‘Just fix it.’

 

First he retouches my hair. I’m relieved to find that he doesn’t have a hair dryer. Sitting under that thing is torture. They pad your ears so that you hear nothing but the whooshing of the dryer’s fans. You sit there as it gets hotter and hotter and hotter…

 

I read a novel while I wait for my hair to dry, the natural way. The girl next to me has her feet in a plastic foot spa. The water foams above her ankles. It looks relaxing but I know better. The last time I had that kind of pedicure, the water was painfully hot. When I was finally allowed to get my feet out, an attendant scraped at my foot with a razor and gashed my foot in the process. At least they had first aid, unlike the next salon I went to, where the attendant poured Dettol in the open wound. I hopped away from the place as fast as I could.

For me, Pedicure = Bandages and Tetanus shots.

The girl who braided my hair did not ask me to hand her the attachment as she braided. I was relieved. I never know what amount isn’t too large or too small. Counting strands doesn’t work. I relax with my novel as she braids. When she’s done, the guy takes over. He leans a bit as he fixes on my extension. I feel his penis rubbing against my back through the fabric of our clothes. Is he doing this on purpose or is it an occupational hazard? I don’t know, but it’s weird and uncomfortable. Should I complain? Excuse me, would you be so kind as to get your penis off my back? I can’t bring myself to say it, so I arch my back in wards to safety. When he moves to the side, it rubs on my shoulder. Now I’m thinking, so this is why hair dressing is a woman’s job.

 

I’m relieved when he tells me he’s done. I want to leave but he insists on painting my nails. I relent and let him paint my toenails but I don’t paint my fingernails because I won’t tolerate an hour of not being able to flip the pages of my book or to fish money from my pockets or to ping.

 

After my nails, he insists on carving my eyebrows. He takes his sweet time doing it and when he’s through, there’s no customer left but me. The lights flicker off. Good going, NEPA. I want to grab my bag and run but it’s pouring outside. Good going, mother nature. Now, I’m trapped in this dark salon with this weird dude. I immediately start negotiating prices like I know what I’m talking about. ‘There’s plenty of time for that.’ he says. ‘No, I’m in a hurry.’ I frown and look at my watch. We’re not yet alone. There’s a girl there, also working at the salon, but she has her bag and is ready to go. I don’t want her to leave before I do. I press a thousand naira into his hands and I say

‘Manage this till I come back.’

‘You won’t come back.’ He says.

I’m already out of the door.

 

Outside, the rain still patters down. I know I shouldn’t walk in it with my new hairdo (which I must admit is pretty) but I’m definitely not going back to be alone with him. I’ve survived the salon for today, no cuts, burns or errors. Time to go home.