Hair-Raising Day as a Hairdresser.

After a whole summer of sitting on my butt, the first day of my second semester in college was tough. I was bombarded by lecture after lecture from 8:30 am till 4 in the afternoon and by the end of the school day, I was exhausted. All I wanted to do was to hibernate, but one of the consequences of living alone was getting a job to support part of my expenses, and coincidently my first day of school was also my first day at work.

I had been lucky enough to be offered a job as an “Assistant Hairdresser” at “Shear-Locks Comb Beauty Salon”, a small parlour, situated down the street, and owned by a merry 60 year old woman, Mrs. Merryweather. When I had been younger, I would often help out at my aunt's salon for extra pocket money, and i was quite excited to start this job. Moreover, I was just thankful that I would not have to spend hours in the back of a café, washing dirty dishes, for minimum hourly pay, like some of my friends.

I was not very energetic or ecstatic, when I walked into “Shear-Locks Comb Beauty Salon”, for my first 4-hour shift, but I forced myself to put on a very bright smile, as I greeted Mrs. Merryweather. I soon changed into my ‘work attire’ (Black T-shirt, black pants, and a hideous bandana), and was shown how to put by hair in the perfect tight “Shear-lock Bun” and do the “Ideal Make-up”. Being the elder sister to 3 younger girls, I had always been a good hairstylist, and was surprisingly excited to start ‘working’.

I had to be honest, even though my job was not the most paying of part time jobs, I was quite optimistic about my working conditions. Even though I was tired, I was all set to start snipping of locks of customers’ hair with my nifty little scissors, and braiding the soft silky hair of the brides which came to avail our services.

As I entered the salon again, I saw my colleague finish working on a customers’ hair. As soon as the customer exited our premises, a broom was thrust into ‘my’ hands, and I was told to clean up ‘locks of hair’ which my colleague had allowed to fall on the floor. Being the newest employee, I guess, this was what was expected of me, and I mopped the place to the best of my ability. After this, I was ordered to make and bring cups of coffee for the whole staff. And then, I was told to empty out the trash can and clean out the gross basins where everyone got their hair washed.

By the time I was done, a couple of customers had already entered our salon, and my colleagues were attending them. I stood, alone, at the back of the room and tried to ‘arrange’ the bottles of the wide variety of slightly different hair products.

Soon, one of my co-workers beckoned me over, and I, finally excited to be working on someone’s actual hair, came forward. My co-worker asked me to fetch a huge haul of hair and cosmetic products from the storage above, and I, presuming that I would help with the actual hair treatment, hurriedly got the bottles of conditioner, hair colour, shampoo, serum, and a load of heating tools down. I wore a pair of gloves, which were meant to be worn while operating with hair, kept nearby. Seeing me wear the gloves, my co-worker instructed me to call another colleague and proceeded to explain the procedure of hair treatment to the third colleague, instead of me.  I was super embarrassed, and hurriedly opened the gloves and went back to the back of the room.

With more than three quarters of my shift already over, I thought that I would not be able to work on actual hair that day. I sat about, admiring the artistry of my colleagues, and running small errands whenever required.

Soon a woman, with the most tangled, dirty, messed up hair I had ever seen walked into our shop. I felt thankful that I wouldn’t have to work on ‘that’ hair. I didn’t know that this lady was going to be ‘my’ first customer.

Passing apologetic glances my way, a colleague called me and introduced the client to me. All the excitement I had about ‘working with hair’ went out of the window as I escorted the customer to the basins. Then, I put on two pairs of gloves on, and started shampooing and conditioning her hair. Heck, I washed her hair about 4 times before letting her proceed to the ‘snipping area’. I was not going to let my hands touch a dirty messy wig.

Unfortunately, her attitude stank even more than her hair. I felt helpless when she would keep barking orders while I was trying to dry her hair. We had not even reached the part of discussing her ‘hair cut’ yet, but she had already schooled me on the best procedures to be used while blow-drying one’s hair and on how to apply just the right amount of serum.

Thankfully, this torment was soon over. I swiftly dried her hair, and handed her over to our “Head Hairdresser”.

When my shift was finally over, I was dead- both physically and mentally. I sleepwalked my way to my dorm, and flopped onto my bed, only to be woken by my alarm at 8 the next day.

Boy, my idea of a hairdressers’ job proved to be a fantasy.