If a salon can make you cry...

Well... I couldn't hold out any longer - I got ma hair did. I went to a man named Itzik (not Isaac, not Yitzhak... Itzik) whom my Rabbi recommended to me. She is a woman of discerning taste, so i figured it would be safe. Some of my classmates have had interesting experiences with personal services here, so I was a little wary. The language barrier worried me, as I wasn't sure that he understood I wanted something "natural" to cover up the "gray" hairs. Yes, I found a colony of them a few weeks ago. So, after waiting for an hour, the concept of appointments in this country is very different from our concept of an appointment, Itzik's assistant starts slathering gray goop onto my head. It burned a little - which worried me a lot, he then asserted that L'oreal is the best product and they only use the best... good to know, but, um, it still felt somewhat, burn-y.

After processing for thirty minutes (!?!?!?!!?) he finally washed me out, and then said that Itzik would cut my hair (even though I'd only made an appointment for color)... so, now we're at 5:30pm. I arrived at 3pm for a 3pm appointment. Cheers. Eventually I wound up getting a pretty good color and a GREAT cut.

All of which would lead one to think: wow! Great! HOWEVER, that would not make a very interesting blog entry, now would it? I would be remiss if I failed to mention the gaggle of 19 year old girls who were in there while their friend, Yeshiva Barbie, got her long blonde hair done. First of all: I was forced to listen to their ridiculous, spoiled and concieted, drivel for close to three hours. Secondly, they thought they owned the place and while I was processing, one of them put her wallet in my bag, thinking it was her friends', and then when my phone rang, fished it OUT of my bag saying "Dossie! your phone... oh... wait... um... whose phone is this?" Lovely. Yeshiva Barbie's hair was perfect - Itzik did a good job. But I do understand Hebrew, and while Itzik was the ultimate professional, his assistant might not have been the most chivalrous in his verbal summation of the girls. Again, cheers!

Oh... AND, one of said girls referred to me as a "lady," while her friend, the only one who tried to make conversation w/ the scary fossil sitting in the corner (moi), very gingerly asked me "So, um, are you in your 20s?" I replied "Yes, I am. I am about to turn 26." To which she said "I thought so, I mean, you looked older, I just didn't know how to ask politely." Miss Manners would be so proud.

Going to the salon usually makes me feel good about myself - you know - the "whole new me" thing that we girls so enjoy doing from time to time. This experience, while I got what I wanted strictly speaking, made me feel like an old hag. Oh well. I guess the price for good hair in this country is a few points of self-esteem.