Platial | Who and What's Nearby
Platial | Who and What's Nearby
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I went to the salon today. The wait was about 15 minutes which I knew meant more like 30, but luckily I wasn’t in any big hurry. I come to this place every single time I come home for a break. Shear Accents. Clever name. The same stylist works on me every time even though I’m always a walk-in. I feel a little bad for never caring to remember her name, but you can’t miss her. Her red ringlets always pose a challenge for me to decipher whether or not it’s her natural color. To this day, I have no idea, but I don’t care that much. It’s just something to think about when she’s messing with my hair. To tell you the truth, I don’t trust any hair stylist. No matter who it is. I mean, if you fuck up my hair, that’s it. I can’t do anything about it until months after it grows out. Then, I just become one less person who puts money in your hands and the next time I go to get my hair done, I’m even more paranoid than I was with someone I was thinking about starting to trust. No matter what, cutting someone’s hair just seems like an easy thing to screw up. But so far, she’s done alright. And I can always count on walking in and having those big, bright blue eyes greet me. She doesn’t have to say anything. Those puppies speak for her and it’s impossible not to keep good eye contact with her. To tell you the truth, it’s kind of creepy. Crazy “red” hair and big blue eyes…big, like she’s trying to open them wide, but that’s just the way they look normally. She’s nice, though.
Today I went in and her eyes told me she’d be with me as soon as she could. I sat down and took a gander at everyone else getting worked on. Eyes was coloring someone’s hair and some young girl I’d never seen before was doing something to some lady. They were complaining about how they couldn’t get the sound to work on the television. The lady’s husband was nervously pacing around while his wife was getting worked on. Eventually, he started pushing buttons to fix the TV. He seemed very determined to become our hero. He could barely reach it mounted on the wall and as I watched him on his tip toes, I wondered how much of a handy man he was at home. He didn’t look the part. Khaki pants that begged to at least reach the top of his sneakers and his sweater vest made me think he was more of a…well, not a handyman. I was proud to be proven right when I was forced to take my eyes off of the magazine I was thumbing through due to the snow screaming from the television. It startled everyone in the room and we all had to stop what we were doing. The volume was all the way up for sure, but before he had touched anything, I was able to guess what Montel Williams was saying. Now, I was getting a headache. He struggled to fix this problem, but after every few hits of the volume button to turn it down, he had to lay his feet completely on the ground to retrieve his balance. A few seconds later he would lift himself up again to finally hit the volume button a couple more times. “Just turn it off, Jay,” his wife began to scold him. I immediately started feeling bad for having secretly been making fun of his pants since I got to the salon. His wife wasn’t nice. He obeyed her and again he started pacing back and forth. He would study all the different shampoos holding his hands behind his back. I sincerely felt that he was literally interested in these toiletries. “Jay...Jay…” his wife tried calling him, but he failed to hear her. With each repetition of his name, she sounded more and more like an owner getting impatient with her dog who wasn’t budging from the couch where he wasn’t supposed to be lying. “Jay…Jaaaaay…” the last call was irritated with a little bit of whine. He jumped a little bit when he finally let himself hear his wife’s voice. He turned around and walked next to the chair she was sitting in while her hair was marinating in a bag. I couldn’t hear a word she said, but I heard his reply. “She’s gonna be at the house in about 15 minutes.” He sounded so sweet—like he hadn’t just gotten yelled at. He even called her Honey.
“15 minutes!? Jay, does it look like I’m going to be finished in 15 minutes?” she snapped back at him. He was clueless. “Does it? That doesn’t even make any sense, Jay,” she continued. No matter what she said to him, she would always include his name before or after the statement. I just felt bad for him.
Carrot Top called me back as I started watching the way Jay was letting his wife degrade him. As I started walking back, Jay turned back towards the shampoos when I heard his name being whined again. “What now?” I thought. I couldn’t make anything more out after I started getting worked on. I felt like I was so close to figuring out their love story. After I was finished, Jay was gone, but his wife was still there. Laughing, telling stories…she was a completely different person now that Jay was gone. So as I was paying I wondered for a minute if she loved him. I made my decision.
Poor Jay. And…what a bitch.
I went to the salon today. The wait was about 15 minutes which I knew meant more like 30, but luckily I wasn’t in any big hurry. I come to this place every single time I come home for a break. Shear Accents. Clever name. The same stylist works on me every time even though I’m always a walk-in. I feel a little bad for never caring to remember her name, but you can’t miss her. Her red ringlets always pose a challenge for me to decipher whether or not it’s her natural color. To this day, I have no idea, but I don’t care that much. It’s just something to think about when she’s messing with my hair. To tell you the truth, I don’t trust any hair stylist. No matter who it is. I mean, if you fuck up my hair, that’s it. I can’t do anything about it until months after it grows out. Then, I just become one less person who puts money in your hands and the next time I go to get my hair done, I’m even more paranoid than I was with someone I was thinking about starting to trust. No matter what, cutting someone’s hair just seems like an easy thing to screw up. But so far, she’s done alright. And I can always count on walking in and having those big, bright blue eyes greet me. She doesn’t have to say anything. Those puppies speak for her and it’s impossible not to keep good eye contact with her. To tell you the truth, it’s kind of creepy. Crazy “red” hair and big blue eyes…big, like she’s trying to open them wide, but that’s just the way they look normally. She’s nice, though.
Today I went in and her eyes told me she’d be with me as soon as she could. I sat down and took a gander at everyone else getting worked on. Eyes was coloring someone’s hair and some young girl I’d never seen before was doing something to some lady. They were complaining about how they couldn’t get the sound to work on the television. The lady’s husband was nervously pacing around while his wife was getting worked on. Eventually, he started pushing buttons to fix the TV. He seemed very determined to become our hero. He could barely reach it mounted on the wall and as I watched him on his tip toes, I wondered how much of a handy man he was at home. He didn’t look the part. Khaki pants that begged to at least reach the top of his sneakers and his sweater vest made me think he was more of a…well, not a handyman. I was proud to be proven right when I was forced to take my eyes off of the magazine I was thumbing through due to the snow screaming from the television. It startled everyone in the room and we all had to stop what we were doing. The volume was all the way up for sure, but before he had touched anything, I was able to guess what Montel Williams was saying. Now, I was getting a headache. He struggled to fix this problem, but after every few hits of the volume button to turn it down, he had to lay his feet completely on the ground to retrieve his balance. A few seconds later he would lift himself up again to finally hit the volume button a couple more times. “Just turn it off, Jay,” his wife began to scold him. I immediately started feeling bad for having secretly been making fun of his pants since I got to the salon. His wife wasn’t nice. He obeyed her and again he started pacing back and forth. He would study all the different shampoos holding his hands behind his back. I sincerely felt that he was literally interested in these toiletries. “Jay...Jay…” his wife tried calling him, but he failed to hear her. With each repetition of his name, she sounded more and more like an owner getting impatient with her dog who wasn’t budging from the couch where he wasn’t supposed to be lying. “Jay…Jaaaaay…” the last call was irritated with a little bit of whine. He jumped a little bit when he finally let himself hear his wife’s voice. He turned around and walked next to the chair she was sitting in while her hair was marinating in a bag. I couldn’t hear a word she said, but I heard his reply. “She’s gonna be at the house in about 15 minutes.” He sounded so sweet—like he hadn’t just gotten yelled at. He even called her Honey.
“15 minutes!? Jay, does it look like I’m going to be finished in 15 minutes?” she snapped back at him. He was clueless. “Does it? That doesn’t even make any sense, Jay,” she continued. No matter what she said to him, she would always include his name before or after the statement. I just felt bad for him.
Carrot Top called me back as I started watching the way Jay was letting his wife degrade him. As I started walking back, Jay turned back towards the shampoos when I heard his name being whined again. “What now?” I thought. I couldn’t make anything more out after I started getting worked on. I felt like I was so close to figuring out their love story. After I was finished, Jay was gone, but his wife was still there. Laughing, telling stories…she was a completely different person now that Jay was gone. So as I was paying I wondered for a minute if she loved him. I made my decision.
Poor Jay. And…what a bitch.
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