The beauty salon I go to is owned by the biggest flaming heterosexual man one could ever imagine. And I say flaming because he is an entity onto himself. So pressed and pretty that he puts other guys and gals to serious shame the way he flaunts and swishes around the salon. But he is not gay. In fact, this boy believes himself to be the next coming for every woman with a pulse. Boyfriend sees himself as God’s gift to anyone with a vagina and I’m sure even with his bragging that he has lost count of the long and undistinguished list of women who have actually passed through his bed sheets. His saving grace is that he can hook up some hair. He has, however, never hooked up mine. I personally find his arrogance and swagger a complete turn-off. He spends so much time blowing smoke up everyone’s butt about his prowess and skills that I’m willing to bet he’s only packing a small square inch with no idea how to use it. But again, he can hook up some hair.
With all his bragging and his pomposity, this man seriously failed Beauty Salon 101. His customer service skills leave much to be desired and although he mastered the art of curling and twirling he didn’t pass the stylist-client relationship exam. For me, hooking up some hair is only one true test of a good stylist. Client interaction is the other and clients like a stylist who listens. Sometimes as you’re getting weaved and waved you need a sympathetic ear. My boy spends so much of his time talking that he can’t hear what his clients might have to say.
Case in point, Deena (not her real name) came in to cancel her regular appointment and while there bemoaned a long list of tribulations. Deena was beside herself because the IRS had levied her checking account for unpaid taxes without prior notice. The bank then assessed overdraft charges for checks that hadn’t been able to clear and she was in the red for some five hundred plus dollars. Family and friends couldn’t or wouldn’t help her and she’d spent the day running interference with the electric company and her landlord about the checks that had been bounced due to Uncle Sam laying claim to her funds. Deena was in desperate need of a good scalp scratching and a sympathetic ear to tell her everything was going to be just fine, but she couldn’t afford to get her ’do done.
The sympathetic ear should have been free, but her stylist was too busy offering her a roll across his mattress to even catch a clue that the skills he wanted to provide didn’t even come close to what Deena was in desperate need of. He dismissed her when she didn’t bat an eyelash at his flirtations, turning his attention to a woman who was actually giggling over his antics. Had I been passing out a grade he would have gotten an F-minus, ‘cause not even hooking up some hair could have helped him make the grade.