Whiskey and a coiffeuse of my own - this was going to be a good day.

By Pepper Parr

April 1, 2016

BURLINGTON, ON

The phrase “he got a haircut” has little to do with the the world of hair salons.  It usually means there was a financial matter that didn’t work out the way you wanted it to work out.

I was at the point where I was in desperate need of a real haircut – I was beginning to look like something out of an orchestra that played classical music.

I trotted over to my usual “salon” and while I would have liked to have gotten the young lady that does my hair most of the time – the length was so bad I would have settled for anyone.

Walked in – and the place was empty – I’m in luck I thought – all the stylists are in the back yucking it up. No so. There wasn’t a stylist to be found – just a receptionist answering the phone.

Would you like to make an appointment she asked – “No. I replied I am here to get my hair cut.” “Well everyone has gone home – they left at one o’clock:, I was told.

Now there was a time when merchants closed on Wednesday afternoons but that as a long, long time ago – well before most of the woman who work in the salon I frequent were even born.

I needed my hair cut today. Hmmm.

I walked out the door and across the street to my favourite variety store where Omar continues to sell me lottery tickets that don’t pay off. He insults me by asking if I want to add Encore to what is a losing situation to begin with.

I complain to Omar that my favourite hair salon isn’t operating. You are in luck Omar tells me – there is a place a couple of doors over that will cut your hair for $10 if you’re not too fussy.

So off I go. I walk in – nice enough place and they are packed.

Kristen – my coiffeuse.

Rob the owner is sympathetic – he looks at my head of hair and clearly sympathizes and asks me what he can do for me.

“A whiskey would go down very well just about now”, I explain. “I can do that for you” and he disappears and returns with a generous portion of whiskey that he didn’t ruin with ice.

Meanwhile, the receptionist takes down the vital information – she doesn’t give me hers – and asks – “what else can we do for you.”

I explain what I like done with my silver locks and she looks at her list and tells me that Kristen can handle me and with that a leggy lass walks over and asks me to sit down so she can run her hands through my hair to get a sense of what she has to work with. I am liking this new place.

Good whisky and a coiffeuse of my own named Kristen.

She is chatty in a really nice way and constantly asks me if I am getting what I want. We carry on our conversation through the large mirror on the wall where the eye contact isn’t exactly complete but we are able to exchange information. Sort of like the way the kids these days chat with their friends on their cell phones – they never get to actually see each other.

With the job done Kristen holds up the mirror – I’m happy, she’s happy. She takes off the cape thingy she had draped over me and walks me to the reception desk and proceeds to book my next appointment. First telling me when she is available and writing everything out on a card.

This is service – the haircut is ok – need a few days to see how it looks.

Do I book another appointment or do I go back to the shop that wasn’t open on a Wednesday afternoon?

The Scotch did the trick – will they pour me another couple of ounces the next time I drop into Teo’s on Brant Street.