Scenes from a salon Every six weeks, usually on a Friday, you'll find me at the salon having my color reapplied. (I found my first gray hair when I was 22. Thanks dad.) It's always a great way to spend the morning. For one, my colorist slash all-around awesome girl Amineh is entertaining as hell. We usually start out just catching up on what's going on with each other. We were talking about watching TV, she said she and her boyfriend watch BBC a lot (he's British). Amineh says she's not really into the BBC. "For one thing, British people are just not that attractive. I told him that one night when we were watching one of those shows," she said. "He looked at me funny and then said 'Gee thanks, hon.'" She laughed. "But it's just true!" But it's what she said next that killed me. "I mean, those people on that show? Not that attractive. Really? Is that the best you've got over there?!" Oh ho ho. Amineh. The poor British. I wonder if he'll ever take her to his native country. ******* When I got to the salon Friday morning, I couldn't park where I usually park because there were street-cleaning signs. Lots of them. For a split second, I contemplated parking there anyway, but I thought better of it. I got lucky and got a spot right in front of the salon as another car pulled away. Amineh had done my color and I was sitting at one of the bowls (that's what they call the sinks where you get rinsed) with toner on the color. (I don't really know what that means, but it looks nice. So whatever.) One of the guys came over to the girl at the bowl next to mine and asked her where she'd parked. She said just out on the street. Then he asked what kind of car she had. A green Galant, she said. "Well, they're towing your car. The guy's got it on the truck already and wants $60 to take it off. Is that OK?" The girl says sure. I would be freaking out, but she didn't seem fazed at all. The guy went away. Later I heard her saying how the signs should be clearer. Puh. If they were any clearer, there would have been one on her car. Another guy came over and asked where I'd parked. I said, "Oh, I parked out front. I saw the signs." The girl was still sitting next to me, though she probably didn't comprehend what I'd said. I mean, if she can't read signs... ******* While I was still sitting at the bowl, a guy sat down in the bowl on the other side of me from where the girl had been. Pasha, one of the apprentices, came over to shampoo the guy. This was (part of) the conversation they had. Guy: So, what's your name? Pasha: Pasha. It's Russian. Guy: Sounds Russian. Pasha: Yes, it's Russian. Guy: So where are you from? Moscow? Leningrad? Pasha: No. Guy: Oh. Well, those are the only Russian cities I know. Jasclo (in my head): You jackass. Pasha: I'm from ________. It's in the middle of the country. (I didn't catch the city he said.) Guy: I'm going to my cousin's wedding. He's marrying a Russian. Pasha: Oh really. Now I'm just waiting for him to utter the words mail-order bride. Because he's just the kind of guy who would. I do credit him for not asking if Pasha knew the bride-to-be. But I don't credit him with much else. By that time, Amineh had come back to rinse the toner out. So she got to hear other parts of the conversation. Guy: So, Pasha. Are you a stylist? Pasha: Not yet, I'm still learning. But yes, I'll be a stylist. Guy: So what's your style Pasha: I'm sorry, what? Guy: What's your style of... styling? Pasha: [stammers a bit] Whatever the person wants. Guy: Oh, so all styles. Anything goes? Pasha: Um, yeah. Amineh and I looked at each other, mouthing "What a freaking dork!" Then the shampoo was over and Pasha led him to a chair, where he was happily out of our hearing and sight ranges.