It was Saturday morning. All week long, like every winter, I had struggled to get up early in the morning. This morning, however, I got up extra early with renewed courage because I was planning to get a beautiful new braided hairstyle. On the internet, I had chosen a hairstyle with the exotic name “Zig zag Cherokee”. In a local weekly, I had seen a full-page advertisement for a new hair salon. The advertisement looked promising! In addition to chemical treatments, this hair salon specialized in braids, weaving and cornrows. In my enthusiasm, I had called the hair salon and made an appointment.
Anu Prestonia from Khamit Kinks with chorekee braids
And this morning it was finally time! At half past nine I entered the stylishly decorated hair salon with a cheerful “Good morning”. My enthusiasm was slightly dampened when I noticed that my greeting was hardly answered and none of the hairdressers spontaneously came to me. “I have an appointment to braid,” I said, somewhat questioningly to the man behind the counter. The man answered in English that “the person who braids” had just gone to the shopping center and asked me to come back in half an hour. I decided to spend this half hour usefully by doing my shopping.
When I got back, it turned out that Jenny, “the person who braids”, had not returned yet. One of the hairdressers noticed that I was getting slightly irritated and suggested that I wash my hair already. In the meantime, her colleague would definitely be back. After she had washed my hair and I sat down in front of the mirror, she told me that her colleague had called to say that she would be a bit late. “You have to wait another hour”. She turned around because she had something else on her mind. Shirley, a new employee of the hair salon, had arrived two hours late.
There I was. In the meantime, 1.5 hours had passed. No more time, no more enthusiasm. There was little point in getting up with my soaking wet hair that was now sticking up in all directions. Besides: which other hair salon could I go to on this Saturday afternoon? The memories from my relaxing era came flooding back. Long waiting times, double appointments, disinterested staff…
Half an hour later Jenny finally walked into the salon, already busy on her cell phone. She started braiding my hair while continuing to call with her cell phone between her right ear and shoulder. “At least something is happening now,” I sighed to myself. In less than an hour she had braided the hair at the back. There, now only the middle and the front! But suddenly Jenny stopped. She didn’t feel well and wanted to go home early. The new girl Shirley was allowed to finish her work. While braiding, Shirley told me the reason she was late on her first day at work. She had been out the night before and it had gotten very late.
Hours later I walked out with a gorgeous hairdo, but still no further in my search for a good black hair salon. And one thing is for sure; My Best Choice is not my best choice!
Guest column by Giselle