I got my hair cut

I got my hair cut today at a Fantastic Sam's. The place looked like a full-on salon with trendy mirrors and rugs and big glossy posters of ethnic models with perfect coifs and glittery make-up.

The customer across from me was a haole man with a thin blonde moustache, legs crossed primly and a lipse.

But for the most part, the customers were old women who'd had the same hair style since 1934 and had no intention of changing. Or middle aged men with do's straight out of "That 70's Show", also with no intention of changing. And the stylists were all bland, overweight, the antithisis of the glossy posters staring down at them from the walls.

"Lava 105.5, The Oldies Station" blared from the stereo.

The woman doing my hair was a chubby local woman. She looked like a tita but was sweet as could be. I tried imagining her husband or boyfriend. Would he be a moke? Or some Japanese accountant type? Surely, he couldn't be anything like the metro-sexual man on the poster behind her, the one in the tight-fitting striped sweater, thick brown hair specifically mussed with the words, "Women love men who don't fear using hair products" printed across his skinny waist?

After cutting and washing my hair, my stylist styled my hair for free (normally it's an extra $3 on top of the extra $3 she already had to charge since I wanted her to cut more than 2 inches) because she wanted to see how all the layering turned out. I am one of those few people, I think, who go into a salon and request the stylist cut off a lot of hair and do something kind of trendy. Thus, I think most of them have more fun cutting my hair, then say the little old woman who ONLY wants curlers or the 40-year-old woman who only wants EXACTLY THIS MUCH trimmed.