Shampoo Politics and the High Holy Days

First week of work down. It was pretty good, which is not to say that I didnt want to run out the door screaming and waving my arms over my head a few times per day. But ten hours a day of anything, especially with the cast of singularly NYC characters that I work with, makes me want to go on and get the hell on. First of all, I have never lived in a city where the population is so overwhelmingly Jewish that everyone is aware that Rosh Hashana is the day after next and is wondering what businesses will be open, and are suprised that any really will be. Everyone was in getting their blowouts done for the holiday, getting all ready for the family descent on their homes for dinner, driving out to Long Island early since they cant drive on the holiday. My bosses took a couple of days off and actually, one of them invited me to his house for his RH party. How could I say no? I immediately wished I had since my friend later that day invited me to sit backstage at the Capleton show in times square, HELLO? I love apples and honey as much as the next JAP but seriously! Thats a once in a lifetime offer. Damn, what could I do: "Sorry Chaim (names have been changed to protect the innocent...and the guilty) something much more fun came up, thanks for thinking of me though! See you on Thursday at the meeting?" Nope. So i went, I was one of the first people there, and as it turned out the only american. Everyone was Israeli. Actually there was one other girl there, a gentile, who was the most likeable person there. His apt is really nice, very bachelory. He lives a couple blocks down from the salon in a big building, he and like six of his israeli countrymen have apts in the same building. Hes done it in all white, including the floors, white wood floors, with black leather couches and a big TV. Oh its hip, and uncomfortable.
So everyone was speaking Hebrew, I was trying to help so as not ot just be sitting there lookng reform, and withing a few moments the requisite older wealthy unnattached guy with the thinning hair attached himselft to me and came on like a freight train. He did all kinds of charming things like tell me to put his keys in my purse and "make sure to look at my car key," which I purposely didnt do, although I unfortunately know a bmw key, and tell me that he could see what a beautiful person I was through my eyes, that my physical appearance didnt mar how gentle and sweet he could tell I was. Apparantly my hideous countenance couldnt spoil my charming personality, asshole. I went along with him to a point, getting him drinks and shit cause I knew he was a good friend of Chaims and I didnt want him to talk about me but he was SO smarmy. I cut the evening short when he started taking about he wasnt racist, but (my fave) how he didnt trust "them" (the arabs, this came out when I said my roomate was Iranian...) and he had seen first hand how they breed hate into their children. That there are some who are ok, but that most, MOST of them are evil and not to be trusted. I told him I didnt want to have that conversation and lets keep it light, its party time!
Then I most firmly refused his generous and drunken offer to drive me home (to S. Bklyn from the UES? No thanks!) and be seen leaving together, and promptly got in a cab to take the train home. The food at the party was really really good, and other than that, I wouldnt mind never seening those people or anyone like them ever again. So not fun. The women are anorexically thin, and overly trendily, fashion victimishly dressed. and the men look like sailors or european fags. they drink like fish and dont seem to be at all religious despite all the fuss they make about being Jews. I thnk theyre a bunch of self obsessed jerks and unfortunately this NYC thing hasnt done anything positive to change my feelings about Israelis, sorry mom. Yom Kippur is next week. Im off early on Wed and Im gonna go to some service, should be entertaining.
The salon is hilarious. there are three main elements, functionally and socially. The stylists, the front desk and the assistants. I am an anomaly because I kind of float between the three, im definitley not a stylist but everyone knows that I will be eventually, and I work both behind the desk and as an assistant, something none of the other assistants do, nor are they allowed behind the desk. So, theyre a little thrown off. There are two dominican girls with horrible attitudes, a romanian guy who is really sweet and actually has his cosmetology license, a russian girl who also has her license as well as horrible eastern european style (spray on white jeans?,) and a Venezuelan guy who is really really nice and is an impressively good painter. The dominican girls are really the only ones who are hard to work with, www.dominicanattitudeproblem.com. They are really competetive and told me that whoever gets there first gets the first shampoo, then you alternate after that. It totally doenst work. One of them, who doesnt know I speak spanish was hatefully complaining to one of the stylists that that bitch (me) had done four shampoos and she had done one. I felt like gently suggesting to her that she might be more apt to see the clients come in and take care of them if she werent getting a haircut, a blow out and then spending an hour sitting in a chair in front of a mirror iron curling her hair. I just keep busy and am not thinking "three dollars!" when I see someone come through the door, Im thinking ok, there is someone who needs an expedient and pleasurable experience starting now, and I proceed from there. Its exeedingly hard for me to work with people who have such a dreary and poverty stricken outlook on life. I understand that her circumstances are tough, she has five kids, she is 36, several of them are in the DR still and she feels trapped in a job that, true enough, doesnt pay enough to make ends meet. oh ass well! youre still alive, healthy and an attractive person! Many people would die to be in your shoes. Not to mention that you certainly would be further along by now if you made yourself into someone other people would want to be around. As it is neither of the Italian stylists will work with her or even send their clients to her for shampoos. One of them told one of the receptionists, a nice yet vacuuous girl who moved here from kentucky the same time I came form seattle, that he didnt like working with these trashy ghetto girls, that its embrrassing to send their clients to them. And while I cant condone that kind of statement I know what hes talking about. These wealthy Jewish women dont want to have a dominican hair salon experience wcomplete with gum chewing, nasal spanish shit talking and acrylic nails. I wish there could be some ettiqiute classes, like charm classes included in beauty school that people would actually be able to take seriously. it can really be an impediment to success, the whole class problem. Understatement of the century.
So everyone in there is hair trigger sensitive and defensive as hell. Personal responsibility is eschewed in favor of the blame game, which travels from stylist to front desk and stylist to assistant and assistant to stylist and front desk to stylist. #1 offender is Chrissy Fagioli the amazingly neurotic Italian american woman from LI i think, the one who is obsessed with her thinning hair. She couldnt find her foiling board, something which neither I nor any of the stylists at Robert Leonard have ever used, so you can see the immediacy of the need. Now, let me be clear. She had a foiling board (which is nothing more than a long narrow peioce of plexiglass that helps you keep the foils close to the scalp) but it wasnt her foiling board. And apparantly, it wasnt good enough. "oh mwy gawd, ive haid that bowad fuh two yeahs and ive nevea lowst it, ware is it? Jeesus, who moves things arownd in heah, Vivi, can you help me foynd my foyling bowad please?" Shes Very high pitched, its a kind of shrillness that defies description. She then segways right into ripping the front desk a new one for undercharging a client when she didnt tell them she had raised her prices. In front of the client I might add, and then turning to the client to sympathize with her about the world's incompetance compared to her. SHUT UP! Its no ones fault, this is what busy feels like! Sometimes customers wait, and sometimes youre waiting, just slow your roll and enjoy your life. Plus when Im around hysterics like that, i knd of shut down into this super calm mode,like "I...dont...know...where...your....foiling ...board is...chrissy....maybe...you....took ...it...home .....by....accident?'
I think neurotics find the calm infuriating but its that or laugh aloud, take your pick!
I had to come in early on thurs, my day off, to hear a presentation about Phyto products. the woman giving the presentation had such a ludicrous french accent that I woulda been better off just reading the literature. She sounded like a disney chef. Then I got on the train, slowly since F service was suspended for 'alf an 'our (french accent?) for some mysterious reason, met my friend in the W4th st station and rode back to my house where I painstakingly combed out all the little locks that were already started and twisted his hair into bigger more sustainable size ones.
I didnt go to dance class. I went last sat and it was great, next week Im on to twice a week. Promise. Ill even go to both classes on Sat. Wish me luck!