Tabatha Deans

Bringing Integrity to the Written Word

RIDING THE RAILS
I finally got some time riding the train today. Mrs. G dropped me at the train station, my bag was packed for a day of adventure; juice, snacks, music and a book. Riding the train always makes me feel like I’m on vacation, there’s something about the smell of the cool morning air mixed with car exhaust fumes that almost makes me euphoric. The feeling of being alone, just one tiny person in the great big city, completely anonymous to those around me, with nothing by the train and my own two feet to get me where I’m going. The people on the train are an endless source of entertainment and curiosity, and I settled in for the ride to my parents house, where I intended to have coffee before jumping back on a bus to head downtown to get a much needed haircut.

At the salon I had my choice between the older, somewhat dowdy stylist who was in the middle of styling an old lady’s hair when I walked in,or the younger, hipper looking girl with blond hair streaked with pink and purple stripes. I chose the younger girl, and although I must admit the last haircut I got was incredible, the job she did was not really up to par. I tried to tell her I wanted longer layers in the front, but after a while I decided it was best to stop criticizing the girl who was holding a pair of sharp scissors and my hair in her hands. It wasn’t a great haircut, but it was sufficient in the fact that she trimmed the split ends and cut a few bangs. As paid my bill and left a small tip she thanked me and let me know that it was only her second day officially cutting hair. Apparently it was an okay cut, because as soon as I walked outside a car full of young men drove by in a low-rider, music thumping and bass blaring, drove by and whooped and hollered out the window at me. “How ya doin’ gorgeous?” they yelled. What the heck, it was only $13 for the cut, so I took the compliment and strutted three doors down to have my eyebrows waxed.

The young oriental girl was not really pleasant as she took my $10 for the privilege of smearing hot was on my eyebrows, then ceremoniously ripping them off my face. I received a stern lecture from her about proper eyebrow care, and I listened to her broken English with tears of pain in my eyes. It occurred to me how innocently we trust strangers with such important tasks as maintaining/altering out appearance. I knew nothing about either of these young women, yet not only was I letting them cut my hair and wax my brows, I was paying them to do it. I was a little panic stricken at that point, but it was too far into the waxing procedure to change my mind, so I closed my eyes and hoped for the best. My eyebrows I inherited from my father. They are white and bushy and can grow at least a half an inch overnight. Apparently my waxer wanted to insure that I wouldn’t have to worry about that for at least three weeks, because now my eyebrows are not only white, but they’re barely there. Apparently the thin, arched line is the standard wax given at that salon. Oh well, I guess it’s a good thing they grow so quickly.

I contemplated going to yet another salon to have the remainder of my eyebrows tinted, but the last time I had them done they didn’t turn out so well. I looked angry and uneven, and given my luck so far today, I thought it best not to push my luck. So I took my mediocre haircut and bald eyebrows and started walking through the neighborhood back to my parent’s apartment. Regardless of my feelings about the new look, it couldn’t have been as bad as I thought because the garbage man gave me a big smile and a toot of his horn.

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August 30, 2010 - Posted by | Uncategorized

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