Wednesday, February 20, 2019// The Statement
6B

W

henever I realize I need a 
haircut, it always takes me 
a few days to get around to 
booking it. First, because I always have 
something to do and often forget, but also 
because it takes a certain amount of cour-
age for me to decide that I want to go to 
a place where I will be expected to make 
small talk with a stranger.
Growing up, I always got my haircut 
with the same person. My mom’s best 
friend. We went to her house, I told her 
how to cut my hair and then she and my 
mom talked while I sat quietly, getting 
layers or bangs or whatever the style was 
that I felt like experimenting with, which 
almost always ended up being 
mostly the same, but a little dif-
ferent — anything to make me feel 
innovative.
My taste for safe innovation 
extends to my social interactions. 
Small talk is not bad as long as I am 
free to leave whenever I deem the 
conversation over. Strangers are 
not bad as long as there is a possibil-
ity that we will eventually move on 
from small talk onto something less 
circular. But being forced to have 
endless small talk with a stranger, 
while being stuck on a rotating 
chair? That’s a no from me.
The entire experience is curated. 
The moment I open the door, I am 
hit by the smell of a perfectly pun-
gent lavender eucalyptus oil, and 
then I turn and make eye contact 
with the receptionist. She smiles 
as if she’s known me for years and 
asks my name. “Did you have an 
appointment?” she says, her voice 
trailing off as she looks for my name 
in the system and some indecipher-
able last name matches her search.
“Would you like some water or 
tea?” she asks. I say tea and she 
turns to get it, but another custom-
er is already at the door. She promptly 
forgets her offer and goes on with her day 
searching names on a computer, offer-
ing tea and smiling to an endless flow of 
strangers.
When my stylist comes downstairs 
and calls my name, I realize she was the 
woman who cut my hair last time I was 
here a few months ago. However, she 
greets me again like a stranger, says her 
name and locks my eyes with hers in a 
more-than-brief moment.
Once she seated me in the chair, my 
cape on and hair wet, she asks me again 

if I would like some tea or water. I say tea 
again, and minutes later she comes back 
with a mug of room temperature water, 
explaining they have just run out of tea. 
I say it is ok and she proceeds to cut my 
hair in silence.
With every cut I expect her to initiate 
a conversation, but she never does. I’m 
secretly grateful and pull out my phone, 
but her head placement directions quick-
ly prove scrolling impossible. Then, with 
no other options and a lot of intrinsic 
curiosity, I start looking at and listening 
to what is going on around me.
The music playing overhead is happy 
but unrecognizable over the myriad of 

voices and hair dryers functioning on the 
floor. After a second of silence, while the 
queue organizes itself, I hear a customer 
behind me recognize and start singing 
the new song playing through the speak-
ers.
“Uh, let’s go to the beach, each…”
“Let’s go get away.” The stylist contin-
ues while swaying his hips but keeping 
his steady hands at bay. I recognize the 
song too, a 2012 hit I remember from high 
school dances. Suddenly, from my omni-
present mirror that somehow, through 
one reflection or other, can observe 

almost everyone in the room, I see heads 
bobbing, mouths moving and feet tapping 
to the song.
“Starships were meant to fly.”
The customer behind me gets more 
excited as the chorus comes for the first 
time; “Hands up and touch the sky,” she 
sings. I can tell the words came out loud-
er than she intended because she and her 
stylist let out a nervous laugh afterwards.
In the station next to me, the stylist, 
whose name remains a mystery, as she 
is referred to differently by almost every 
person who addresses her, has a light up 
crystal plugged in at her station for “good 
vibes.” She is cutting another girl’s hair 

while talking about her own engagement 
and Netflix habits.
“My fiancé and I just started watch-
ing ‘Breaking Bad,’” she says. “It is such 
a good show, but depending on what kind 
of shows you’re into.”
Thanks to my mirror, I can also see a 
girl and her stylist working away two 
rows behind me. I am not sure how I can 
hear them, but they’re talking about the 
woman’s love life.
“He’s 38 and I am 23,” the girl says. 
“I kind of like the age difference. It has 
never been a huge problem.”

The stylist’s eyes widen as he registers 
his customer’s situation and then he says 
something along the lines of giving her a 
discount on a blow out, for extra confi-
dence on her date with an older man.
Next to them is a stylist with an older 
customer, seemingly the oldest in the 
salon. Her hair is short and gray and her 
face is beautifully drawn in with wrin-
kles. I can’t piece together what she is 
saying, but her lips never stop moving and 
her and her stylist let out a laugh once in 
a while. She leaves before me, with a per-
fectly inert and spiky pixie cut.
My hair is being dried now, and my 
stylist asks if I have a preference on how 
to style it. I say no and she proceeds 
to dry and curl my hair to her lik-
ing. By this time, I can already feel 
the hairs that, despite the cape, got 
stuck to my neck and sweater. As 
a distraction, I continue to let my 
ears and eyes wander into other 
stylists’ stations.
The customer who loves “Star-
ships” is gone and a long-haired, 
brunette, middle-aged woman has 
replaced them. The stylist has gone 
to fetch her tea and she sits on her 
chair talking on an old flip phone.
“I think you should buy the 
chicken for tonight,” she talks into 
the phone. “I will probably be here 
for another hour. Would it be too 
much to ask? The store is on your 
way back.”
My hair is almost all curled now 
and my stylist remains quiet, bit-
ing her lip every time she takes a 
new strand onto the curling wand. 
It just started snowing outside and 
I hear one or two people comment 
on the weather in the background. 
I let my imagination fill in the gaps 
between the conversations.
The girl with the blow out went 
on a date with the 38-year-old man 
and she discovered he was married. The 
woman and her fiancé finished “Break-
ing Bad” and started binging “Game of 
Thrones” in their gold and teal decorated 
living room. The brunette lady’s signifi-
cant other didn’t only buy the chicken, 
but they also cooked it and served it with 
accompanying romantic candles and 
chocolate cake for dessert.
I exit the salon with a slightly crooked 
bob and new bangs, but also with a found 
love for haircuts and a few semi-imagi-
nary, new acquaintances.

Tea or water

BY ANDREA PÉREZ BALDERAMA, MANAGING STATEMENT EDITOR

ILLUSTRATION BY CHRISTINE JEGARL

