Salon Salsa: The Final Cut

Once my professional life began I realised that few of my friends no longer visited the barber shop. They had started getting 'salon treatments'. Out of curiosity and a bit of peer pressure, I too visited one of the popular salons that had a rather French sounding name (not that I know French, just that I had never heard the name before. I doubt even the salon employees knew what it meant).

As I entered the salon, I was greeted by a receptionist, which made me think if I had entered a wrong place. Nope. The salon had a receptionist who asked if I had an appointment. I didn’t because no one told me I was making a sales call. And all I had to do in a barber shop was to wait for 10-15 minutes glancing through 5 year old issues of Filmfare or Cineblitz.

Anyway, the receptionist glanced through a diary to check if she could ‘accomodate’ me. I looked inside and there was no customer; just few employees in black and wearing an apron. The apron had pockets in which rested all of the barber's tools. Finally the receptionist smiled widely and motioned me to enter. The waiting employees immediately parted to guide me to a chair. One of the guys came up to me and asked “What would you like to do sir?”. I was disappointed. Because my local barber was more of a self starter. It didn’t matter what I wanted. He cut the hair as he pleased.

‘Just a normal hair cut’, I replied.

The stylist then proceeded to examine my hair. He grabbed a few strands with his fingers and made a face.

‘Sir did you wash your hair before you came?’

I hadn’t because I usually did that after a haircut. Apparently my hair was too greasy to cut and it would damage his scissors. So I had to get a hair wash which would cost extra. I nodded along as I didn’t want to come across as someone who rarely bathed. So I got my hair washed. And then the cutting began. For the first time I saw how hair could be cut in a sophisticated way. Heck he put clips all over my head. and my hair was not used to such pampering. Because at my barber place this is what usually happens.

Ok that is an exaggeration!

After he was done, he asked if I needed a head massage. I refused. He asked if I needed a shave. I refused. But he was quite adamant on giving a facial. Apparently my face was too dirty (and he said that in as many words) and in dire need of a facial. Out of curiosity I asked for the price. As soon as he quoted the figure I hurriedly got off the chair. Because I had not planned on selling a kidney for a facial. I walked towards the receptionist who handed me the bill. An astounding 650 rupees. That was worth a whole year of haircut at my barber shop. But she wasn’t done. She then tried to sell me a membership which would give me many benefits. I refused again, to which she gave me a 'saale gareeb' look and suggested that I make an appointment next time. The smile had vanished. And so did I.

So once the corona thing dies out, I will be back to the barber shop, happily waiting on the couch and glancing through 5 year old copies of Filmfare, and Femina too because my barber shop is now unisex. Till then I hope my hair growth slows down or something. Or hide the trimmer at least. My son has been looking for it and keeps looking at my hair with hatred. I get the feeling that he is planning something nasty.

The End!

Note: All images sourced from the internet