Its been ages since I’ve blogged, please forgive me, my two fabulous followers. Sigh.
There I was, armed with a plan to remove the orange shade from my hair that I’d unwittingly acquired from a previous, graciously un-identified salon.
I arrived on time to find an intimate, louder than I enjoy salon, where I met with Francesca, my stylist. In my eagerness to de-orange I’d over-filled the parking meter with coins for way longer than necessary, I’d had a feeling that removing the orange and correcting my loosely termed hair-do may take some time. I have natural spiral shaped curls that I frequently, though not always straighten with all of my might and an industrial pair of ghd’s. My hair was in much need of some care and attention.
I had felt a combination of alarm and relief upon viewing the much cheaper online price list at this new-found, recommended salon. If they could remove orange from my hair and provide me with a half-decent cut, then this could be the jackpot of hair experiences. It was a risk worth taking.
Francesca filled me with semi-confidence and so we got started.
Fran, as I like to call her when I’m typing, had agreed that my hair was in fact orange, this was delivered in a matter of fact tone that led me to believe she and I would get along famously, there was no flattery, no nonsense, my kinda gal.
A short way in to my ‘’relaxing’’ hair salon experience, I was a spectacular combination of orange and silver, with tin foil on much of my head.
Just as I was settling in to an article about women having it all, power left us. (Not mine or Fran’s power, obviously!) No, the electricity power had left the building and so, there I sat, all foiled up, getting cold in this much quieter yet more frenetic, unfamiliar salon.
No lights on a dark rainy London day, no hair dryers, no hot water, no music, no TEA.
Fran began to run around firing off orders like bullets in Italian to her team of three. I sat watching and flicking through one glossy magazine after another wondering how long we may be sat there. I asked one of the other salon workers if this was a regular occurrence, because they all seemed to have very clear roles in response to this hiccup, apparently it was not. A customer on the opposite side of the salon looked disappointed in me for asking this question.
With chaos flooding in, various delayed customers were sending a passive aggressive message of ‘’I have somewhere important to be’’ this tangible tone began to fill every corner of our chrome and mirror existence.
I’d set the afternoon aside for orange removal therefore I was fairly relaxed by comparison to the other women, which led to enjoyable feelings of superiority.
I felt like the good girl in the scenario, the less troublesome one, oh yes, an unfamiliar and fabulous experience.
After being abandoned by Fran (which was tough because I had hoped we’d be firm friends, but to be treated in such a disposable way so soon in to our relationship didn’t bode well for our future) a young man arrived at the back of my chair, he moved so quickly that it was as if he had just appeared, I was struck by the fact that I had not seen him coming toward me from any direction even though the salon was wall to wall mirrors.
This was very odd and I was beginning to ponder the possibility that pranksters were playing with my afternoon off. Come out Ashton! Okay, Beadle then! That’s right, because I am, as we all are, a little narcissistic on some incy, wincy, ugly level.
This Mr. Ben type chap (no name, no introduction, just high-speed and a serious face, way to serious for hair-doing if you ask me, but my opinion was somewhat diminished having arrived with orange hair that I had lived with for a month, despite being a dark brunette naturally. An experience I may share more on at a later date) reminded me greatly of a time way back when I was project managing an event for a very important person don’t ya know.
The event was being held at The Dorchester Hotel in London and I’d spent days on location planning and organizing the various needs of said important person who will, I’m sorry to say, remain nameless so that I don’t break any confidentiality clauses.
Security was such at this event that the security services had been enlisted to check things over prior to the arrival of our VIP.
All this to say that my hairdresser, rushy mc.speedy, reminded me of the security services men.
There I was, all J-Lo in ‘The Wedding Planner’ movie, minus the headset and feeling really rather powerful, wishing that the people who didn’t respect me could see me now, but my family live out of London so it just wasn’t practical, when two men had arrived on either side of me in The Dorchester foyer (a wide open space). I’m a diligent, hyper-vigilant sort of gal and I hadn’t noticed them coming toward me to discuss the details of the event and to clearly give me the once over, not to mention royally freak me out. I mean, neither one of them, I hadn’t seen either of them walking / rolling or lowering themselves down to be standing on either side of me. I didn’t know which one to look at!
As you can imagine this took me by surprise, but I concluded that my powers of perception had been thwarted by the best of the best. I was mildly comforted and I decided not to focus on this too much, rather put it down to an interesting experience, not make it something negative about my perception skills, onward I moved, which has worked well for me for the past 5 years.
Until now, Rushy Mc.Speedy was not part of the security services. Ah, or was he? Lets look at this I thought, he is a hairdresser who had duped me with this unusual, sneaky, man on wheels sort of skill. Perhaps he was moonlighting, that must be it. ‘’Under cover eh’’, I said, he didn’t reply, which confirmed my suspicion.
Powers of perception again in question, I was intent on observing more closely what the dickens was occurring.
As I watched this man work on my hair I thought how stressed he seemed. His response to stress seemed to be to do all things at Olympic like speed and to yank the strands of my hair as if his very life depended on it. Perhaps it did..
I observed that this chap was trying to do an excellent job, to prove his value in the salon during this time of crisis. I was struck by how this drive affected him. He was efficient, faster than is required, he was good at his job, he knew what he was doing and didn’t have much to say, which personally I value in a stylist. He even made me a mug of peppermint tea delivered with two chocolate chip cookies when the electricity returned. Apparently he preferred to act out kindness rather than verbalize it.
Although he did seem intent on the most ferocious overcompensation behaviour I’d witnessed since the war. (I have no example to give so the war will have to do) Why so hard on one-self, I wondered. That topic is a can of worms so I’m leaving it closed, for today.
With the return of shop power came Fran, back to her rightful place resuming her hairdresser role alongside me, her new, very patient friend.
I wondered if I was observing him correctly and considered that this may just be how he is, permanently, which frankly would be very tiring for him and for those in his sphere. But hey, rock on.
Shocking, as it may seem, I shall return to the salon despite said power cut, if not only to find out if Mr. Moonlight has been assigned a new task and moved on, or whether or not he’s still running the race at top speed. Perhaps I’ll engage him in conversation about meditation or maybe even medication.
In addition, Fran deserves a second chance at our friendship, I mean; we all deserve a second chance, right?
I received a free gift of hair oil for my troubles, you see, being a very good girl does pay off. Who said gifts can’t buy love and loyalty?
These are the reasons for my returning plus the fact that I am no longer orange of hair. Marvelous.
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