The Haircut.

I walk up the steep staircase, nervous, because my mum isn’t there with me, I’m doing this on my own.

I walk into an empty room, I saw a woman, she saw me, she knows I’m waiting, why isn’t she asking me what I want?

I wait, for around 5 minutes, when I hear someone talking urdu, of course they think I don’t understand, but I do, I’m pulling at my sleeves from nerves,

“Upper lip?” The lady who saw me before asks,

“Uhmmm… No… I, uhm, I’m here for my haircut.” I manage to spit out, stammering,

“Okay. Take a seat.” She has an accent.

I sit in one of the black chairs placed by the wall opposite the reception desk, I’ve been here before, wasn’t the carpet red? Where are all the old posters of ridiculously ‘beautiful’ people?  Has it been that long?

I was sat for around 5 minutes. It felt like an hour. I was worried I’d be late, I told my mum it would only take half an hour.

Another lady walks out of a room behind me, and asks “Haircut?” Her face is more pinched than the other’s, her features less warm,  she’s wearing bright pink lipstick.

I nod my head, and she says “What’s your name?”

“(my name here)” I say quietly, {anonymity of the blog}

“Please, follow me.” The pinched lady says,

I follow her up some stairs into the bit with the huge mirrors and harsh lighting, I sit down in front of one of the regal mirrors and start taking my scarf off ridiculously, in a hurry, she’s waiting, what if I take too long? Will she get mad?

I manage to get my hair out without dropping any pins etc,

“Your hair’s quite long, wow” She says,

I smile shyly at her in the mirror.

She begins to comb it out with her hands, she eventually gets a real comb, should I have washed my hair before I came? Oops.

It takes her a while to comb it out, but once she’s done she asks “A trim and layers yeah?” I nod my head and hesitantly add

“But I don’t want my hair in my face, I want long layers,” I stammered, of course, I can’t say things without stuttering.

She holds out the bottom of my hair to me to indicate how much she should trim, she nods her head sharply, and begins cutting. Everything about this lady is sharp.

I hear the cut cut cut of the scissors and bite my lip, what if she cuts off too much?

She begins sectioning my hair, I notice it’s quite greasy near my scalp, yep I should have washed it before. Serves me right for being a lazy shit.

She doesn’t grimace, she continues cutting, and then half way asks me “Should I feather it at the front? It would really suit you.”

“Uhm, I’m not sure, how much would all of this cost?” My mum only gave me £20, what if I don’t have enough? I wasn’t thinking straight when I left the house.

“It’s 15 for all of it” Phew.

I nod my head and she sections off the front of my hair, and starts cutting diagonally, this makes me more nervous but also strangely excited. Feathers sound nice, even though I don’t know what that means.

The scissors gleam a rainbow whilst she’s cutting. She calls over the other woman and says something in urdu, it was too fast for me to catch.

She clips up my hair in a weird way and leaves me saying “2 minutes”

I wait for 5.

The other woman comes up to me and unclips my hair, she smiles at me in the mirror.

“Your hair’s so long, wow, my sister has hair just like yours, mashallah, is it the  first time cutting?”

Wow. She’s talkative. I recognise her accent and voice from the phone call I made earlier.

“No. I just stopped cutting it for a year, I guess I got lazy.”

She looks at me in the mirror weirdly. Oh. I said something wrong.

She begins straightening my hair roughly, but I oblige, even if I wanted to object I wouldn’t be able to say anything.

“When was the last time you washed your hair?” She asks. Oh shit. She noticed.

“I wash it once a week.” Great, I didn’t even answer the question. She smiles at me looking slightly annoyed.

She straightens it for quite a while, yeah my hair’s long, I know,

She stops and asks me, “Is it 4 o’clock?”

“I don’t know”

She checks, “Wow, it’s quarter to 4, time flies”

I smile at her in the mirror. I hate small talk.

She straightens the rest of my hair, the pinched lady comes back and says in urdu “Leave it.”

She goes. Back to silence now, the pinched lady straightens out the ends and finishes of the feathering.

She stops. Brushes out my hair. Asks me “Is that okay? Do you like it?”

I smile at her genuinely, I like it, I really like it. I say “Yes. Thank you.”

She smiles at me, sharply, “It’s okay. I’m finished now.”

I tie my hair up in a pony, she looks at me in the mirror and says “See, it all fits into a ponytail, long layers.” She smiles and leaves me to put on my scarf.

I put on my scarf, taking way too long,

I pay at the desk, thank her again, and leave.

Walking down the stairs, my head feels lighter.

I walk home smiling.

[This is the account of my haircut yesterday, I was narrating this in my head the whole time, and thought it would make a good post. Hope you enjoyed being inside my head for a while!]