Went to Brooklyn today to have lunch with Susan.
Since I was in the borough anyway I decided to have my hair cut.
After all if Arturo Toscanini is available to play happy birthday to you, you don’t pass it up.
That’s right! I’m equating my beautician Tony with Arturo Toscanini.
Sure Tony’s shop could use a good cleaning.
Since I know they have running water because there is a fountain in the shrine, I gotta believe that my man feels that if he washes his combs or even the rags they throw around your neck to protect your clothes from flying hairs, he will lose his Chi.
This I don’t want to happen.
If I were to go to any other beauty shop and paid $12 for a haircut who knows how it would come out. You can see why I throw an 8 buck tip at him.
Not everyone is happy with Tony’s place.
I was waiting to get my coif “styled” when a couple came in. No appointment necessary but first come, first served and I was next with Tony, who happens to be the owner.
The man was kind of handsome, the woman, not so much. She was really fat with bad skin. When they first came in I leaned over and asked Susan if she thought the woman’s hair was wet or just greasy.
That mystery was solved when said woman announced loudly that she washed her hair at home “cause last time they really fucked it up”.
She sat in the chair and not wanting them to “fuck it up” again she gave directions to her beautician. Then she leaned over to tell the woman cutting her husband’s hair what to do.
“Just the top. Use a scissor, trim it. Just the top”
Since no one in that shop considers english their first or even sixth language this explanation took a great deal of time.
Tony was doing his magic on me when I felt his attention shift elsewhere.
The wife was shouting. “She chopped the shit outta his hair. See? She chopped the shit outta it.”
The husband trying to calm her said “Take it easy Diane. It’s ok”
“Waddayamean it’s ok? She chopped the shit outta it”
“Shut the fuck up Diane. I like it”
Diane quieted down but she still clearly wasn’t happy”
I had a real feeling of deja vu during this and then I realized that I had heard almost the same conversation word for word in Bergdorf’s when Julie was getting her hair done.
No sooner did Diane take a chill pill when a brouhaha started by the cash register.
I only caught the tail end of it. It seems that one of the customers brought in a letter from some organization that she belongs to requesting a donation of money or services from the shop.
The girl behind the desk smiled and nodded and put the letter in the drawer and went back to what she was doing.
The woman said “Well?”
The girl looked at her blankly.
“Ya gotta give me something, money or a coupon”
The girl still didn’t understand. She looked at Tony and said something in chinese to him.
Again, I lost Tony’s focus. The woman turned to him and explained what she wanted. When he understood Tony just laughed and shook his head no
” I gave you a letter. Why do ya think I gave you the fuckin’ letter?”
Tony just kept shaking his head .
“I come here all the time. I send a million people here and you won’t give me a donation?”
She started stomping out but stopped at the door and returned screaming at the receptionist
“Then you can’t have the letter. Give me the fuckin’ letter”
By this time I was getting nervous. Tony had spent very little time actually focusing on my hair. I’d be lucky if I got out with a shag.
I could see my 12 bucks flying away into the sky and if Big T thought this kind of attention would get him a tax free 8 dollar tip he had another think coming.
But I worried for naught.
Even with all these distractions his genius couldn’t fail. I left looking like Debora Paget. (google her)
It was worth the trip.