Salon treatment

I began writing this piece of blog when I had to wait at that Beauty Parlour, while the beautician was treating her regular customer, but according to me, a second-comer…

As I swung the door of that Unisex saloon, I caught a whiff of the fragrance from various hair sprays, hair lotions and other make-up stuff organized in neat arrays over the glass shelves. I turned my gaze around and was met with too many Taras reflected from those human-size mirrors.

I admit!

That was just the second time I was visiting a beauty parlour. The first time, to cut my hair and have bouncing bangs (that turned out to be a flop, of course!) Now, on the suggestions of my friends, I came for the special treatment to my eyebrows that needed shape – ‘Threading’.

“Tara, all you need is perfect eyebrows,” was everything my friends would say every single day.

A beautician lady who was busy with the facial of another girl, looked up and gave a warm-welcoming smile.

“Please sit for a few minutes. I’ll tend to you soon,” she said, her hands steadily peeling off the mask from her customer who looked like an alien to me, behind those cucumber eyes.

Before I could take a seat on those plush cushions, a lady of about 55 years of age, brushed past me in a hurry and sat down. She grinned at me apologetically for such a hurry.

“Hello Madam, welcome!” the beautician beamed and cooed literally.

The just-arrived lady reciprocated the smile.

“Regular customers are special preferences,” I thought as I sat sown next to her, as the beautician finished peeling the mask.

I picked up a beauty magazine and skimmed those ‘Fair-pimple-less-girls-are-the-most-beautiful’ pages. After a few more relaxing moments had surpassed, she called the lady next me.

“Madam, the usual dying right?” she asked, pulling out a chair in front of a huge mirror.

“Yeah,” the lady next to me said, getting up from her seat.

She let her aging half-white half-black hair down and it didn’t even reach her shoulders!

My jaw dropped open in anger.

I wanted to say, “Excuse me! But I came first!”

But, I simply shut my mouth close for some apparent reason and watched the beautician and the lady commence a never-ending non-stop, nonsense-stuff chit chat.

“This time dye till the roots. Maybe it might last for another two weeks,” – the conversation began this way and moved to, “These days, the younger generation want to dye called streaks, while we want to simply dye our grey streaks.”

I dunno what humour was potent inside that line, but the two ladies broke into a hysterical laughter. They kept talking aimlessly and switched to new topics with much ease.

I picked up my mobile and began writing a post for my blog about my experience in a salon.

Half an hour later, I noticed out of the corner of my eyes, that the lady’s hair was tied up in a small bun for the dye to dry.

“Excuse me, Ma’am!” she addressed to me and I flung the magazine on the table, clearly exhibiting my frustration.

She was stunned for a second. Nevertheless, she regained her composure back. After all, dealing with annoyed customers must be on her To-do list.

I gave a menacing stare at her regular customer and sat on a high cushion, reclining chair and she adjusted the height, while asking me, “What cut do you want? Layers or Mushroom or Deep ‘U’?”

She was about to pull my elastic band that secured my high pony tight, when I simply uttered the word, “Threading.”

Her hands retreated back and she smiled at my reflecting mirror. I didn’t bother to smile back.

She left me to myself for a few minutes and returned back with a roll of thick, white thread in her hand.

She made my head rest on the chair and instructed me to close my eyes and hold my eyebrows tight with my hands, one up, the other down.

“It will pain. Sometimes, your eyes might well up with water,” I heard the voices of my friends from the day before.

“Tara! Cool! This is gonna take only a few painful moments. And then, Voila! You’ll have perfect eyebrows,” I chanted to myself.

With only one eye open, I saw the lady adeptly moving her fingers between the threads and then she brought it near to my eyebrows.

I felt an immediate miniscule pain on my eyebrows. They weren’t anything huge as my friends had exaggerated. Within a matter of five minutes, both my eyebrows were trimmed perfectly.

Despite the looming, big mirror, she brought out a pocket mirror and flashed it in front of my face, asking, “Satisfied? Perfect? Need any adjustments?”

Now, now! She asked me too many questions without even giving me a chance to analyse my eyebrows first.

“Yeah, perfect,” I said after a few moments pause.

“Ah! Good!”

With that she straightened the chair and I jumped out, caressing my eyebrows.

I looked at my mirror image and felt maybe I should get photo-ed for those beauty magazines.

Man! Seriously! Just shaping an eyebrow altered my face! I looked charming when I raised those neatly-curved eyebrows. Except for those pimples on my right cheek…

“We also offer special treatments for pimples removal,” she said, reading my thoughts.

I shook my head in surprise as she caught me on the right note unaware.

The regular customer lady grinned at me, her hair still in a bun.

I turned around and said a polite, “Nah, No thanks, I like them anyway,” to the beautician.

I opened the parlour door to leave, when she said, “Ma’am! You forgot to pay! That’s seventy bucks!”

“Ah, that!” I said pointing out to her regular customer, “Get it from her!” and stepped out.

Before the beautician could realize what was happening, I stepped in again to shout at her regular customer, “You agreed I’d finish first! I got the bike keys. Walk back home. Goodbye, Mom!”



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