Sunday, October 2, 2011

Drug Addiction with a Splash of Pink

I tried a new hair salon yesterday.

I walked in and found exactly what I expected to find:  Black leather furniture.  Cheap coffee brewing.  Posters of unknown fashion models with glamorous hair, blue eyeliner and glitter lipgloss.  Shelves of Redken and Kerastase products.  OPI polish displays.  A 2003 issue of Vogue.

A 2003 issue of Vogue?  Did I hit 88 miles per hour on the way in?  It's time to update that magazine rack, McFly.

The only colors allowed in the salon were black, white and pink.  So if staring at all of that black and white depresses you - no worries!  The fun splash of pink will liven your spirits.

Everybody who worked there looked like their Daddy didn't hug them enough when they were kids.  Many of them didn't smile, but who could blame them? I bet it actually hurts to smile with all those facial piercings.

The purpose of a fresh, hip and unique salon is to remind you that you are not fresh, hip or unique.  While there, I always feel the uncontrollable urge to add spiky bangs, blue highlights and become a Democrat.  Maybe it's the cheap coffee.

Just one time, I want to walk into a hair salon and find country blue and magnolia decor, a stylist dressed like a second grade teacher, and the smell of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies escaping from the breakroom.  Not because I would expect to get a great haircut, but because I am going to run out of things to blog about one day.

The receptionist greeted me as I entered the salon.  There was something off about her - like, Charlie Sheen off.  Is the show Intervention filming here today?

Is she really a depressed drug addict or am I just becoming judgemental?  Maybe I should reconsider those blue highlights after all.

After my root color and trim, I walked back to the receptionist's area to pay and schedule my next appointment.  Somewhere between me telling her that I did not need any new shampoo today and signing my debit receipt, I heard a loud THUD.

I looked up and saw nothing.  I mean, no one.  Where did the receptionist go?

I peeked over counter to find her lying on the gray tile floor.  You can't make this stuff up!  Well, you could, but I didn't. She was out cold!

Dear Hair Salon, 
The fun splash of pink did not keep me from noticing the depressed drug addict lying on the floor.  It was a nice try, though.