The Hair Washer

The Hair Washer

I’ve just booked an appointment at the hairdressers…

 

I really don’t like going to the hairdressers. I used to be worried about such factors as whether my hair would be cut well or whether the style would suit me. Nowadays my major concern is not the skill of the hairdresser but the uncomfortable interaction with the person who washes my hair. The vulnerability, the controlling instructions, the discomfort and the questions, so many questions…

 

Hair washer: “Hi there! Are you ok?”

 

Me: “Yes thank you, are you?”

 

Hair washer: “Would you like to come over to the back wash?” (It’s actually a sink).

 

I sit in the chair in front of the sink.

 

Hair washer: “Could you sit back for me please?”

 

I shift back in the seat.

 

Hair washer: “Can I just put this towel around you?”

 

She puts towel around me without waiting for confirmation.

 

Hair washer: “Can you lean back for me?”

 

I lean back cautiously and she rams the adjustable sink down onto my shoulders – the position of complete vulnerability is established.

 

Hair washer: “Is that height ok for you?”

 

Me: “Yes thank you.”

 

I hear the sound of rushing water.

 

Hair washer: “Is that temperature ok for you?”

 

Me: “Erm, I can’t feel it yet… oh, actually it’s a bit too hot.”

 

Hair washer: “Is that better?”

 

It’s still uncomfortably hot.

 

Me: “Yes, that’s fine, thank you.”

 

She starts shampooing my hair.

 

Hair washer: “Is that pressure ok for you?”

 

Me: “Yes thank you.”

 

It was until she started vigorously jabbing into the back of my ears with her long fingernails.

 

Me: “Your nails are a bit sharp.”

 

Hair washer: “Sorry?”

 

Me: “Nothing.”

 

She flicks shampoo into my eye as a deterrent to further complaining, I wipe it with the towel but my vision is blurred.

 

Hair washer: “Are you ok?”

 

Me: “Yes fine thank you.”

 

Hair washer: “Are we having conditioner today?”

 

Me: “Yes please.”

 

She starts massaging strawberry-scented conditioner into my hair, and then into the corner of my good eye.

 

Hair washer: “Is that ok for you?”

 

Me: “Yes thank you.”

 

She rinses my hair with freezing cold water before rubbing it violently with a towel.

 

Hair washer: “Could you lean forward for me?”

 

This is actually very difficult; my neck doesn’t seem to be working properly. With enormous effort I manage to lean forward.

 

Hair washer: “I’m just going wrap this towel around your head, ok?”

 

Hair washer: “Can you just lean your head back for me again?”

 

She wraps the towel around my head and tucks it under at the back, painfully pulling my hair in the process.

 

Hair washer: “Would you come and sit over here please?”

 

Somehow I manage to lift my head up again and can just about see the seat being offered.

 

Hair washer: “Can I get you a drink of tea or coffee?”

 

Me: “No thank you, I’m fine.”

 

Hair washer: “Are you sure?”

 

Me: “No, really, I’m fine. Thank you.”

 

I have my hair cut and make my way to the front desk to pay. There she is again; the hair washer.

 

Hair washer: “Did you have a coat?”

 

Me: “No, I didn’t. Thank you.”

 

She hovers around me expectantly. I take a couple of pound coins from my purse and hand them to her.

 

Me: “Here you are - Thank you.”

 

She looks at the coins; clearly disappointed.

 

Hair washer: “Oh. Thanks. See you again then.”

 

Me: “Yes, bye then.”

 

I leave the hairdressing salon; smelling of soft fruit and feeling hugely relieved that the ordeal is over.