It’s appropriate that today is six days away from my thirtieth, as the mark of the beast, 666, appeared in seemingly two different ways. This manifestation first occurred in the form of the juvenile antics of an adult hipster woman in Bang salon, and lastly what sounded at best like the aboriginal death wail from the definitive bratty child in Target. While these two events had very little in common other to startle passer-bys out of their day, they both felt like scenes from the movie, Lord of the Rings, come to life. The former being personified by a vicious, adult, Gollum acting out over a failed haircut, and the second sounding like a den of those orc people.
The child was more of an annoyance that anything. The wail was startling enough that it formed an instant community from strangers all bearing similar facial expressions as if we had just witnessed the Hindenburg explosion.
It was fleeting, and it was a child. So, perhaps it wasn’t the sign of evil incarnate after all. Lady from Bang salon though? She was a villain come to life and she made me feel downright icky. The closest feeling I can remember from childhood was that scene from that pitiful Wizard of Oz sequel, Return to Oz. In this scene, the heroine, Dorothy, somehow younger in the 1980s sequel than in the 1930s original version, finds herself pitted against an evil queen who changes her head. If you can change your head, it stands to reason you need storage space for your multiple other heads. It would be tacky and unsightly to leave them lying around after all. Dorothy ends up stumbling upon the evil queen’s head parlor in what is a campy scene nowadays, but was totally freaky to me as a five year-old.
The only difference between the woman in Bang, and the evil queen in Oz, is that the Bang patron may have been better off without her head. If I were to put a nicer spin on it, she would have been better off with a different head as the one she was wearing was just all-around nasty.
I think we’ve all found ourselves in unexpected public situations where someone arrives and casts a very dark aura over the entire setting. In the opening scene of Star Wars, it’s Darth Vader and his troops boarding Princess Leia’s ship. Diplomatic mission to Alderaan, my butt! It’s Sharon Stone being interrogated by the police and crossing her legs in the only scene from Basic Instinct that anyone remembers. I’m sure had I not missed a certain day in high school English class I might be able to apply a literally term to what I’m describing. Maybe it’s simply called the dramatic entrance? Whatever it’s called, it’s annoying and it’s downright chilling. This woman was by all intents and purposes polite in her word usage to the four salon employees she had herded together to berate. I, along with a few others awaiting our own appointments, was greeted to her passive-aggressive outpouring of drama over what may be the one of the top sins against the vain…a bad haircut.
We’ve all had bad hair-tastrophes. My top two contenders were likely dying my hair blue in undergrad, and getting a pineapple haircut in early high school. The blue dye washed out within hours, leaving it completely stripped of color. As if that would go well with my complexion. The pineapple? Well, it’s never a good idea to buzz your head and leave the bangs. Why? Because that’s called “tragic”.
While I fully well own I’m one to get swept up in the emotional zeitgeist of the day, situations like the one in the salon normally don’t set me off. This time was different. This woman was truly downright mean. Her requests were demands. She seemed to revel in the fact she was controlling an entire situation. I didn’t like her. The best I could do to communicate this was non-verbally glare over the A-section of the Post. It may not seem like a lot but I’m told I can give a pretty mean stare-down…
I have to wonder the ‘why’ behind such childish behavior. She either missed a developmental stage in childhood, or may have some form of personality disorder. Not that the two are mutually exclusive. Wherever you are right now, nasty, salon, lady, I hope you found some solace in a wig, a box of wine, or perhaps a pair of clippers and a number 2. For me, I hope to take you as a reminder into my 30s to chill the hell out and not sweat the small stuff. The hair is repairable and will grow back. Your attitude? Hopefully that will, as well.