The real happening places on Saturday mid-afternoons are the hair salons! They offer shampoos, haircuts, blow-drys, bottomless drinks, amusing characters and useless information.
I was seated beside a woman who was having a professional photographer do her house, hence the haircut. I didn't get that one too. Oh, and she has a 56 year girlfriend who just met her soulmate who was 18 years her junior.
Beside her, was a 8 or maybe 10 year old boy with a 3-inch-blonde-afro being cut by a martial-artist-looking-stylist wearing a beautiful watch that I can't afford. It was a watch my boss could not afford. I am quite positive, my boss' boss couldn't afford it either.
The woman beside me left, a 40-something man took her seat. He was alternately sipping Coke Light and looking at his nails. It was only when his stylist came that he started talking, saying over and over "uh-huh", "yes", "yes, yes", "that's great", "it has been too long...couple of months", "oh yeah", "that's good" that he started to worry me, he sounded like a PG movie and clearly, little-3-inch-afro-boy is below 18.
My stylist, Daniel whom I am meeting for the first time (I was too lazy to go to Holland Village where Mae is) was a real sweetheart, he was polite, with all the right words such as "okay", "yes", "sure", "excuse me", "thank you", "can I make a suggestion?", "are you alright?", he also did not say too much which was just perfect. He was very meticulous in cutting which was great, that I was willing to overlook the fact that he was not quite a mathematician as he tallied a total of 25 hours on a 9AM - 3AM shift. He was struggling to get the algebra right, saying it was not 25 but in fact 23. My heart went out to him so I said "Oh who knows how long that really is, I'm pretty sure it felt like 25 hours". He by the way, looks like my friend Eddy, I was so tempted to talk to him in bahasa, not that I knew how to speak the language.
After my haircut a very enthusiastic blow-dryer whose name I didn't catch (as unlike the stylists, they did not have cards did) her thing on my hair, and she is realy good! She gave me big, big hair! Jenny McCarthy would be proud. I should definitely go out tonight--to a costume party! With my knee-high boots I could go as Felicity Shagwell, the girl shagged by the spy Austin Powers. And I don't even trust myself to be alone with a roller brush.
As I was paying I saw the little boy stand up and walk to the counter, with a new do, a 2-inch-afro.
I was seated beside a woman who was having a professional photographer do her house, hence the haircut. I didn't get that one too. Oh, and she has a 56 year girlfriend who just met her soulmate who was 18 years her junior.
Beside her, was a 8 or maybe 10 year old boy with a 3-inch-blonde-afro being cut by a martial-artist-looking-stylist wearing a beautiful watch that I can't afford. It was a watch my boss could not afford. I am quite positive, my boss' boss couldn't afford it either.
The woman beside me left, a 40-something man took her seat. He was alternately sipping Coke Light and looking at his nails. It was only when his stylist came that he started talking, saying over and over "uh-huh", "yes", "yes, yes", "that's great", "it has been too long...couple of months", "oh yeah", "that's good" that he started to worry me, he sounded like a PG movie and clearly, little-3-inch-afro-boy is below 18.
My stylist, Daniel whom I am meeting for the first time (I was too lazy to go to Holland Village where Mae is) was a real sweetheart, he was polite, with all the right words such as "okay", "yes", "sure", "excuse me", "thank you", "can I make a suggestion?", "are you alright?", he also did not say too much which was just perfect. He was very meticulous in cutting which was great, that I was willing to overlook the fact that he was not quite a mathematician as he tallied a total of 25 hours on a 9AM - 3AM shift. He was struggling to get the algebra right, saying it was not 25 but in fact 23. My heart went out to him so I said "Oh who knows how long that really is, I'm pretty sure it felt like 25 hours". He by the way, looks like my friend Eddy, I was so tempted to talk to him in bahasa, not that I knew how to speak the language.
After my haircut a very enthusiastic blow-dryer whose name I didn't catch (as unlike the stylists, they did not have cards did) her thing on my hair, and she is realy good! She gave me big, big hair! Jenny McCarthy would be proud. I should definitely go out tonight--to a costume party! With my knee-high boots I could go as Felicity Shagwell, the girl shagged by the spy Austin Powers. And I don't even trust myself to be alone with a roller brush.
As I was paying I saw the little boy stand up and walk to the counter, with a new do, a 2-inch-afro.
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