June 14
So, the day after you get like 6 inches taken off your hair, and you like it and you're all happy walking across the street towards your building and then from over your shoulder you notice a hateful and colon obsessed coworker and said coworker limps over to you, touches the back of your newly shorn head and says "well, THAT'S interesting!" what do you think to yourself? Right. You think "You scrungy, choadslapping buttwrangling fucknut! What the fuck do YOU KNOW ABOUT HAIR? Have you had a different haircut since your sexual heyday in 1982? I didn't think so!" What you say out loud, of course, is "Heh, heh." Yep. You say, and let me type it again for you so that you don't get it wrong: "Heh, Heh."
I was getting my hair done last night. After he got over the initial shock and horror of the half yellow head, and denied my request to strip all of it down to white and then dye it hot hot pink, we choose a color (which in reality is nothing at all like the lame-o camera shows it to be. Stupid lame-o camera). We begin the works. He's putting the stuff through my hair, he gets to the back. He stops. "Okay, besides that yellow crap, what else did you do to your hair?" "Umm..nothing?" "No." "Um...." "What was it? What WAS it??" "I'm so ashamed! It was Feria!" "Heh, well, you didn't put any of it back here!" "Yes, I did!" "Uhhh, no, you didn't!" "Yes, I did. Oh, wait. No I didn't! I can't see the back of my head, why would I put dye back there? I only see the front." "You CANT SEE THE BACK OF YOUR HAIR??" "No! I can not see the back of my own head, can I?" "Well, I CAN. No more Feria! BAD! BADDD FERRIAAAAA!!" I was properly cowed.
Another customer comes in just as he's finishing with the unseen back of my head, so we all shoot the shit until he does the pile all of the slimy dye hair on top and send me off to entertain myself thing. I go and check out the cosmetics. I apply some. I look at the hair stuff. I set aside some Aveda pimple oil (to rid yourself of, not to give yourself a few for those of you who are unsure of my motives). I pick out some other skin product. I smell everything. I touch everything. I pour myself a 10th cup of coffee (the 9th? "Uhh...don't drink your coffee, I just accidentally dipped the dye brush in there!") I listen to Wayne talking with the guy who's hair he's cutting. Then I see it. The manicure room. I always mess around in there when left to my own devices. I am, in this particular case, left to my own devices. I unlock and enter.
There are no lights on in the room, but it is still bright enough out that I am able to see colors and consider which I would choose if I choose to paint my nails. I pick up vampy deep reds. I fondle screaming blues. I pass over light pinks and whites and purples. I sit at the chair. I open a bottle of strengthener and use it. I become bored with where I am and head for the door. I turn the knob. Of course, of course you know. You know what comes next. I am locked in. It is a glass door. I knock once. I hear the sounds of hair being buzzed, I can not be heard.
I'm not worried. They'll come get me eventually, so I decide that I will choose a color and actually paint my nails. This will kill some time. I pick a sparkly color. That's the color, yes, sparkly. I paint sparkles. I see a woman walk in the front door, she drops something off for someone. Wayne calls out over the clipper "Thank you!" The woman looks in at me, I smile and wave. She looks frightened and hurries off.
Another 5 minutes pass. I am bored. I see it: purple glitter. Aw, jeah. I paint them purple. I am still trapped. I am cool. I am not worried. I sit and allow my nails to dry and listen to Wayne and the guy making wrapping it up sounds. They move to the front counter. They talk for a few minutes. I hear Wayne ask "Now where did Dana go?". They chat for another minute or two, and I stand up by the door. Finally, I am seen. I point to the knob and make a sad face. Rescue!
Wayne cracks up. "Why didn't you knock or something?" "I did, you didn't hear me, and I knew someone would notice me eventually, and in the meantime, look at these nails! Woo hoo!"
The nails. They are glittery!
The lesson learned from this story is that even if you find yourself locked in a room, as long as you've got some good friends and a bottle of tequila in there with you, you'll be all good. Okay, that's not really the lesson learned. The lesson learned is that if you leave me alone for long enough, I'm bound to get into some shit that will eventually either get me in trouble, or alter my appearance in some big or small way. Extreme boredom leads to yellow hair. Being locked in the nail room leads to purple nails. Being stupid leads to, well, being me. Thank you!
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what you fear in the night and the day comes to call anyway
and we all get burned