End Of Shift

End Of Shift

    Located on the upper level of Lakeside Mall, Totally Hair  was always busy. But today the salon would be wild. It was black Friday and the Texas Longhorns and Oklahoma Sooners were playing in town this evening.

    My drive to work takes an hour plus, and I was late for my  shift. After my divorce, I’d tried finding a job closer to home but in a small town with six salons, the customer base wasn’t enough to pay my bills.

    An hour and ten minutes later I arrive at the mall. Checked my watch and praised myself for making it with time to spare, and no speeding ticket.

    Approaching the Salon, I see there’s already a long line waiting outside the closed gate. Oh, good! I prefer busy days, they pass quickly − and tips are always terrific on weekends.

    I made my way to the front of the line, raised the gate just enough to slide my four-foot eleven-inch body under, then lowered it behind me. We didn’t open for another fifteen minutes.

    “We will be with you shortly.” I said from inside the locked gate.

    “Can you write my name on the list?” One customer asked.

I looked at the line, and knew if I said yes to one, I’d have to do it for all.

    “Sorry, we are not allowed to do that. Corporate rules. The other stylists will arrive shortly. Thanks for your patience.”

    “Oh, come on, lady!” One customer yelled.

 I ignored them, clocked in and started preparing my station. Soon, the other five stylist’s arrived, and we opened the door.

    “Randall?” I called the name of the first customer.

    “Hi, I’m Kari. I’ll be cutting your hair.” Noticing he had a severe sunburn on his head, face and ears, I added, “Looks like you got cooked!”

    “I need a number two fade, and cut finger length on top.” He said, ignoring my comment.

    “Sure.” Placing a number two guard on my clippers, I began shaving his head. Suddenly he jerked away.

    “OUCH! Can’t you see I’m sunburned?”

    “Of course I can, and I’m being as gentle as possible.” After finishing the sides I sprayed his hair with water from a misting bottle.

    “That’s cold! Where do you keep that?”

    “I keep it at room temperature, right here on my station. It probably feels colder ‘cause you’re so sunburned.” I finished cutting the top, then asked, “How does that look?”

    “I said finger length.” He replied rudely.

    “Sure, I can take it a bit shorter.” I began cutting again.

    “How about now?” I ran my fingers through, smoothing the way it lay on the sides. “Short enough?”

    “Are you deaf?” He spoke through gritted teeth, “I want it finger length.”

    “This is as short as I can get it with the shears. I can use a number four guard with clippers for the top if you’d like.”

    “I don’t want the clippers on top. Just wash my hair so I won’t itch, I want the hell out of here” He demanded.

    The customer is always right? A bunch of B.S.

    “Certainly.” I agreed, brushing the hair off his neck,

    “Right this way.”               

Once he was seated at the shampoo station, I wet his hair, then poured Tea Tree shampoo into my hands and began scrubbing his head, making sure to distribute the minty suds all over his ruddy neck and ears.

    “What the hell? That burns! What are you doing?” He yelled.

Lowering my mouth to his right ear, I whispered, “You should never piss off the stylist.”

Once the rinsing was finished, it was time to check out.

    “That will be twenty-five dollars – oh, and the shampoo is on me.”

 He threw a twenty and a five down and left.

 When 6:45 P.M. rolled around, business began to slow due to the football game. I had fifteen minutes left on my shift. As I was cleaning my station a gentleman signed in.

    “Hello, welcome to Totally Hair. Someone will be with you shortly.”

Looking around the salon at the stylists, the man frowned.

    “I don’t want a queer cutting my hair.” He was eyeing the two male stylists working on other customers.

    “Sir, there is no need to be rude. Yes, they are gay, and they’re two of my best stylists. I can assure you they will do an amazing job.”

    He hesitated a moment. “Can’t you cut my hair?”

The customer is always right... still B.S. Why were there so many impolite customers today? I was tired, and my shift was almost over − but I am the manager and available.

    “Yes, I will cut your hair, sir.” I didn’t want the two stylists, Ron and James, to feel uncomfortable, nor did I want this guy to walk out and complain to corporate office.

    “Please sign your name on the sheet.”

    “Welcome to Totally Hair Salon, Brody,” I said as I marked his name off the list. “My name is Kari. How would you like your hair cut?”

    “Just above the ears, with scissors, a little longer on top... and a square neckline.”

    “Great! Are you headed to the game this evening?”

    “No. How do you work with the queers? Bet they hit on every guy who’s hair they cut.”

    “I’m sorry you feel that way. They really are excellent stylists. And no, that’s not what they do.”

    “I hate gay people. I think they are disgusting, and there’s no place in the world for them. They should just step off a cliff.”

He continued to condemn the gay community throughout the haircut.

    “Is that short enough for you, Brody?”

He inspected his hair thoroughly in the mirror.

    “I think so. It looks good. Probably better than what either of those could do.” He was giving Ron and James the stink eye.

    “No complaints then?”

    “Nope. Looks great.” 

I’m glad you like it, Brody.” I brushed hair from his shoulders and neck. After he paid I said, “Guess what? I didn’t hit on you, and between my legs I have a set of testicles.

End