the twilight zone.

Gather round everyone, it's story time again.


First, let me give you some background. I've been needing to get my hair trimmed for, oh let's say, two months. And I'm not exaggerating, I really needed a trim. You know you need one when the person sitting next to you on the bus notices and tells you to jot down the number for their stylist. (ok, ok, that didn't actually happen, but it could have.) However, one of the major reasons, maybe even the only reason, holding me back was the hefty, associated price tag. The last salon I went to for a "dusting" (yes, a hair dusting, that's what the stylist kept associating it as) charged me $65 + my first born + tip!

But, it was time for me to cave to the great hair oppressors and pay my dues. Don't worry, I wasn't going down without a fight.

I yelped my way to Danae's doorstep (quite literally). She owns the prestigious salon Progressive Cuts, which just so happens to operate out of Danae's very own house. I know, this should have been my first clue that only bad things and awkward moments were barreling my way, but alas I pursued her. I tell you it was her price that sucked me in, $30? $30 for a hair dusting? It was sweet, sweet music to my ears. Music my pocket book couldn't resist.

I set up an 11am appointment and she emailed me her address, for privacy sake let's say it was 11 twilight street.

So, I got up yesterday morning and meandered the few blocks up to 11 twilight street. I approached a 3 flat apartment building, each flat door clearly labeled "11," "12," "13." Door number 11 was open and I checked and double checked, and re-checked again that I had the right address, so I went in. There was no doorbell to ring, so I assumed this meant to come on in.

I went in.

Flat "11" happened to also be the third floor flat, so I had quite the amount of steps to climb. Each step seemed to push my insecurity further. Is this it? Did I just enter into someone else's apartment? I don't know where I am? Turn around, turn around. My brain was shouting, but my curiosity and my $30 hair dusting pulled me further. I made it to the top of the steps. There was no clear direction. I didn't hear anyone, not a peep. I hesitantly chocked out a barely audible "hello?" as I rounded the corner to the first doorway.

Oh, no...no, no, no. I've made a horrible mistake. This can't be right.

There sitting on an orange furry couch in front of me was a burly, bearded man wearing plaid pajama pants and a scraggly shirt. He was holding a mixer sized bowl and from it he was eating his healthy dose of cocoa puffs.

No, no, no. I turned bright red. What do I do? What do I say?

I could think of nothing else than to question, "Is Danae here?" knowing in my heart of hearts this has got to be one of my most embarrassing moments ever. He didn't miss a beat though. Oh, yah, she's cuttin' someone's hair. Go ahead and have a seat.

My brain had stopped functioning some time back when I first rounded the corner, so I did nothing other than what I was told. I sat down, sat down right next to burly, bearded man. He had just popped in a DVD of an episode of The Twilight Zone, so I inwardly cursed myself for arriving 7 minutes early to my appointment. We sat there, he and I, soaking up every little detail of how the aliens had landed in a small Mexican pueblo and the government would be arriving shortly to investigate the slaying of one of town's police officers.

Oh, goodness, is seven minutes really this long?

Eventually out pops Danae through the kitchen door, leading her client out. She's friendly, she smiles, thanks me for waiting, and beckons me to the hair salon (I mean, the kitchen). There was actually a legit hair style chair (what's that called?). And, for all those out there completely grossed out by the thought of a stranger's hair floating anywhere near a plate of piping hot mac n' cheese, it was at the very least somewhat stationed apart. The rest of the story really isn't all that eventful. She trimmed my hair, nothing fancy, nothing disastrous, and sent me on my way, just $35 poorer.


Would I do it again? Maybe. I mean, it was only $30.



[photo credit: tshirtgurus.blogspot.com]