Good Hair Day

Not too long ago, I decided my woefully unkempt locks warranted a little TLC and a keratin treatment was the way to go. Spurred on by visions of myself with fabulously swishy and more importantly manageable hair. I bit the bullet and booked myself a spot at a swank Karachi establishment.

The day of my appointment arrives. Since I am intimidated by fancy places and I want to make a good impression . I show up at twenty to twelve. A good half hour before my allotted slot.

At the reception desk I am greeted with disdainful un-enthusiasm by a chain-smoking quiff. Lilac shirt unbuttoned almost to his navel. Waxed chest on display, artfully sun streaked hair elaborately gelled. He blinks apathetically in my general direction through a haze of cigarette smoke. Before waving a languid manicured paw in the direction of the waiting room, indicating that I be seated and await my turn.

I shuffle to the waiting room in my homespun shirt and battered clogs. Taking my place amidst the piles and piles of glossy magazines and wait to be ushered into the inner sanctum. I wait for half an hour, then a full hour. Maybe, I’ve gotten the time or god forbid, the day wrong? But no.

Fully an hour and ten minutes later, the quiff wafts in on a cloud of nicotine scented ennui and snootily informs me that Danyal (for the purposes of this re-telling let’s call him Danyal ) has been waiting for a full five minutes and was I interested in getting anything done or not.

Ah. Five bloody minutes.

And so the customary rites of humiliation begin.

Danyal is worryingly young and painfully trendy looking , his rickety legs encased in a pair of too tight pants, one ear is fairly lopsided with the weight of several ill-advised piercings. He is entirely engrossed in stalking his ex on Facebook when I arrive (He has that vibe ) .

Several long minutes after being seated. I merit a quick once-over.

Danyal is not impressed.

His eyes dart longingly toward the expensive looking lady seated next to me.

She is exquisitely , expressionlessly fraxel-faced beneath a blow dried blonde hair-helmet. Knuckle busters dripping from her fingers. A client worth her weight in tips and worthy of time away from his beloved phone screen.

Then again a job is a job.

He gingerly lifts up a strand of hair before letting it fall in disgust. Keratin you say?

He feigns astonishment, are you sure? these are very…. He smirks, Brittle.

I swallow. Yes, I’m sure.

He lifts up another strand, squinting at it like some rare seaweed specimen.

I mentioned it on the phone. I have dry porous curls.

In contemptuous tones. Do you like straighten these like, every day, yaah ?

No, maybe once a year. I have curly hair they tend to be a little dry, I am familiar with the rudiments of haircare.

His disbelief is palpable.

Hmmmph. Yaah, ok, yaah, And have you cut them yourself, with I dunno, a pair of gardening shears?

I consider denying Danyals allegation’s, but by this point I have realized I cannot win , so I play along.

A blunt kitchen knife gives the best finish, I find.

Danyal scowls. I have spoiled his little game of lets humiliate the client.

He motions curtly to a girl who washes my hair in one of those moveable sink thingies with a minimum of fuss and small talk before returning me to the tender mercies of Danyal. Who is now trying, with limited success and none too discreetly, to look down fraxel faces shirt.

He is not happy to have me back .I have distracted him with actual work. My neckline is inconveniently high and I am disappointingly common to boot.

The routine torture of the keratin straightening begins. It might be my imagination but every time I wince, Danyal seems to smirk. Every. Single. Time.

I silently vow revenge on all hairdressers. I will never ever come back here. I hope Danyal’s piercings turn green and gangrenous and his ears fall off and his ridiculously tight pants prevent him from fathering any children and he is the last of his misbegotten line.

I will shave off every strand of my hair before subjecting myself to this indignity again. Three hours of wishing death and destruction on Danyal later.

My hair are given another quick wash and blow-dry. Danyal scrolls unblinkingly down his screen with one hand , while holding the hair dryer with the other hand. Having gracelessly done his duty Danyal attempts to pitch me the salons recommended haircare line at roughly thrice the market rate. When I exhibit reluctance , he looks down his nose at me.

Your hair could really use it, yaah?

Isn't it just a bit expensive?

Cue: derisive sigh, yaah ,yaah, but it's totally worth it nah.

I cave and buy a couple of bottles. Even though I know I will never use them and I can order them online for less than half that price.

Commission secured. Danyal sniffs loudly and tells me I’m done before mincing away in his too tight trousers.

I regard my reflection in awe. My hair are stupendously shiny. For three days I have tv ad hair and then I wash them. Not quite so swishy, not quite so shiny but still, manageable.

I have almost forgiven Danyal.

Almost.