Salon Scary Story

RRSFM* Scary Story
(October 10, 2005)

After two weeks of social inactivity, not including those confined in my domestic abode, I finally decided that I want to go out. After all, the pain in my back and the fever that I have been suffering from in the past two weeks were (Almost.) gone. So I decided to tag along Dudzki** after he convinced me that having his hair long isn't really his thing. A quick last look at him made me agree that indeed it was time for a haircut. (College rock star days are over, dear.) Although it took a while and a few men’s magazines, before we finally decided to hit the road. (I got to pick which haircut would best suit him. And NO – I am not a connoisseur on that department, so don’t ask why he gave me such a privilege. As much as I am so audacious when it comes to hairdos – or what a few of my friends would call it on me, Hairdon’ts – I seldom get such a sought after chance to pick someone else’s hairstyle. YES, I grabbed the chance as a hungry devil as I am would do.)


Franck Provost's salon in Makati is where the nitpicky Dudzki usually have his hair done. (Makati?! NO!!! Take me to Timbuktu instead. I beg of you. Insist and I will fake a heart attack.) I told him that the long way just didn't appeal to me so I convinced him to have it in one of the salons in SM City. "I used to go with Celso to Ricky Reyes Salon For Men way back in college." That and a few winks did the job. (No lip-licking moments this time. Honest.) So he agreed.


The usual Yuletide Season crowd flocked the mall, which reminded me never to come to this godforsaken place called in contemporary time – The Mall – EVER AGAIN during this season.

When we got in, the receptionist with some female salon aides in the waiting area looked as bored as expected. (During Christmas season, people will spend money on anything else but a haircut. Or so I thought.) With straight faces they asked, "Sir, anong kailangan niyo?” (Instantly I thought of answering, “Is this where we can get siopao?” For the love of Hades, why ask that? This is in FACT a SALON, right?) I was about to start with my usual oration of sardonic remarks but Dudzki gave me a nudge me and answered, "Yes." (People I often go out with in public places are scared to hell that I might start a fight any moment – with anyone at any cause.)


There was no line for customers at that time. So one aide, ushered him inside "to check the state of his scalp" first (A tinge of promotional shit over here.) on a high-tech gadget of some kind and as expected from the screen shots, he did have dandruff. (Yes. Tell me something I don't know yet! They should have asked first before they went on with it. It would save them time. And Expertise? – Na-ah, I don’t think so.)


This Aide explained how dandruff started with the use of wrong shampoo brand, blah, blah, blah. And (Guess what?! ) in a minute or two, she was endorsing their new 'scalp treatment' and shampoos exclusive ONLY in the salon. (What a lucky day... )


Before Dudzki could even answer, I said NO. (There are people who can’t say no, excluding me.) It's a good thing the aide didn't insist, otherwise it'll be her last day of work and that I can be sure of. (Does Ricky Reyes, after years of 'hair' practice really believe that 'his' shampoo is the ANSWER to dandruff problems? Mother Ricky, think again.)


So Dudzki waited for a while until his name was called. On the seat, I reminded him to be more aggressive with whoever (From this hell hole with a pair of scissors for a pitch fork.) is going to do his hair because - this is RR Salon and the cutters are not exactly devoted to making other people look better. (Believe me, they’re NOT.) In my sour humor I said while pointing a finger to Mother Ricky's life-size picture by the wall, "You might end up looking like Mama Ricky!" (I have to check though if part of their training manual is to make everyone who enters the salon look like their founder – Heavens NO! )


I was a bit scared.


If this haircut fails, it’ll be the end of me with Dudzki when it comes to ‘haircut-must-go’ places. And I did skip one very important detail with the story of tagging along with Celli - he came here to have his shoulder-length hair trimmed by one inch only, which isn’t really very complex for any cutter with good eyesight and two hands. Precision matters more than expertise with this kind of style. But hey, it slipped my mind and Makati is just so damn far. (Poor Dudzki...)


So when his name was called, I immediately asked what kind of person is going to do the job. “Ano ang maggugupit? Babae? Lalaki? O bakla? Kung bakla, maghihintay na lang kami ng available na lalaking maggugupit.” (O Hayop?)


This has nothing to do with being sexist or gender insensitive or whatever. It’s just that I personally believe straight men would be best to cut straight men’s hair. (And I prayed: Please don’t make him look like Ricky. Please.) Don’t worry, that’s not universal. So leave it at that.


The usual process took place, the shampoo before the cut and the haircutting. In betweens, I took a peek and gave Dudzki hand signs to have the rear end shorter and the ‘bangs’ shorter, et cetera. (If my overpowering tone of voice and devil eyes won’t make this cutter listen intently and with empathy as he’s paid for, I would stab him with the nearest sharp thing I could get a hand on.) He did listen. (Some people just know when not to mess with crazed audience and lose a limb.) So I left Dudzki to the care of the barber.


Around this time, the waiting area suddenly became a fiesta of activities. Men between the ages of 2 to 40 years old created a mass at the waiting area.


The baby who came in with his parents and with the latter’s desire to have his haircut today (And not any other day.) started crying, obviously impatient and hungry. I hated his parents instantly. (Torch them to death, I’d say.) These were parents who opted not to bring their baby somewhere else where they can get the baby’s hair done A.S.A.P. without the WAITING! (I started imagining that I could get into the baby’s mind through some cosmic powers and start biting the parents. Or suck their blood dry. Or...) There wouldn’t be a tag that’d make other babies envy knowing that he got it from this salon anyway.


The other guy beside me, who was on the phone when he went in, (And still on it when we left.) was talking to his ‘Babes’ and giving her a monotonous recount of all his rendezvous in SM. (By this time, I had a warm feeling of saying ‘Ohhh’s and ‘Ahhh’s to make him suffer the consequences of his squeaky voice bugging my ear from about 6 inches away. But one look at him stopped me, even for the sake of satisfying my prank addiction, I will never give this guy a chance to listen to my sensual moans. Oh. Did he come here for the haircut or a face job?) And what really got into my nerves was the fact that he started his every sentence with ‘BABES’! (The only guy I dated who attempted to call me with a name fit only for piglets in the entertainment business and furry friends lost his balls. I made him eat it. Just kidding.)


The other guy just right across me was complaining why he was included in the long ‘line’ at all when in fact he was there for a haircut with ‘Julius’. (Bastard. Take your scene elsewhere.) This ‘Julius’, who I assumed was the senior (Superstar?) cutter of the salon, ought to have a different ‘line’ for his customers because this guy sitting across me made a scene out of the whole thing. (Puh-lease...) Nobody can be that good and worth fighting for even in the call of vain over your hair! (For someone who doesn’t care where s/he gets the cut done, I will never make such an atrocious affair tantamount to leaving the house for work oblivious of the fact that he placed his undergarments on top of his pants. Hell-o!?!)

Du’h (To quote colegialas), “Julius” cannot do wonders and make you look pretty, you - YOU ugly piece of muck - you. And the scene you made is an obvious minus pogi points for you. (SWOOSH! NOT. NOT. NOT CUTE.)

Before I could even start untying the straps of my sandals and shove it in the last guy’s ass (Or mouth... What’s the difference?), two youngsters came in. The receptionist asked the same – (Uhm...) – stupid question she asked all of us who were lured in this den of pseudo-haircutters, the two asked the basic question of how much the haircut would cost. (I admired the two for their curiosity for the cost of their future demoralized hair state. That comes on top of the rules when you are entering the hair ward of which you will have a less than 10% chance of getting your hair done well – based on your personal liking.)


And in another minute a family of five – all adults - decided to make a fieldtrip and came in. There were five of them but only one actually needed a haircut (GEE... It made me wonder why some are fond of bringing the whole barangay when only one needs to get a thing done. Spell: TOO CROWDED.) The phone guy with his “Babes” – still romancing his ultra-modern phone moved a bit to give space to “the barangay”. (Cramped in my seat, I had another demonic premonition of moving a few inches to throw the matronic beauty representative of “the barangay” on the other end of the seat to the floor. But I took pity on the plant beside her.) The matronic beauty peered at my feet for more than ten minutes and announced to the whole world that she needed a foot spa. I looked at my feet instantly, conscious of how she suddenly got the idea, and my feet looked back – reminiscent that I’m also in dire need of one. (I wished at this point that I was performing liposuction on her using pieces of straw gathered from the pile of trash in Payatas and put together for that purpose. Or. Chicharon, anyone?)



Before my stronger evil spirit took over me, Dudzki came out with what seemed to be a decent haircut. He paid in the reception area, looked at me to ask how much a tip would be just for the job, I got up and told him to give a hundred pesos. (Was I guilty of casting mean thoughts? NO!) But no sooner than he dragged me out, I told the receptionist that WE WERE NEVER COMING BACK for any service because the place sure was torture. (There’s a weird feeling that the haircut would show its ‘real look’ in a few days that would presage: DISASTER.)


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In two weeks, after all the blow-drying and the gel mutation had worn off from Dudzki’s hair, he begged me (Actually I insisted.) on giving him a trim.


And allow me to say that it was a success. (Come on, he didn’t have to pay for a stay-home cut unlike in salons.)


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* RRSFM – Ricky Reyes Salon For Men, particularly the branch they have in SM City North EDSA – just right outside the mall entrance from the Car Park. (Find the Mall Map, if you are still unfamiliar of this notorious place.)


** Dudzki – not his real name of course, you dummy.


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If you are going there (or to any pseudo-posh and really posh salon), I suggest that:
- you bring a book to keep you from casting death wishes to others,

- the picture of the hairstyle you want if you are too poor at explaining to the idiot savant with the scissors how you want it,

- you take an honest friend who owns a gun along with you (DON’T TOW THE WHOLE ADAMS FAMILY IN) to comment on your choice of hairstyle,

- a waiver stating that you have the right to kill the haircutter if you are dissatisfied with the way it turns out, (And remember to have it signed first, of course.)

- a gun (if your friend doesn’t own a gun) or your kitchen knife to kill the haircutter, (If only you can get through the SM security personnel - but with the lousy way they check the bags, you could.)

- and a phone number of a lawyer who can defend your claim for insanity.



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NOTE: These were just mean thoughts, no animal was hurt in the process.