Pree-tee

I’ve been feeling antsy. Ready for a change, but I’m not sure what. Today I decided to get my hair dyed. Pree-tee. The chunky highlights that so many Koreans have in a rainbow of colors.

I took the bus downtown. I remember one of my Korean girlfriends pointing out a good hair salon, and I’ve passed it several times, now I just need to find it again. Hmmmm. Maybe if I go to the main plaza I’ll remember which street to take. The main plaza was hustling and bustling with people, as it always is. Older people slowly meandering this way and that. Middle school girls in their oh so conservative school uniforms. Younger couples arm in arm. I was trying to get my bearings when I noticed people gathered around a table. I crept closer. There were mostly older women, housewives, ajumaa. They were making something. Oooooo – lotus flowers. So pretty. Hot pink and baby pink crepe paper petals overlapping, surrounded by intensely green leaves. As I stared an older women motioned for me to come closer. She handed me a dixie cup, poked my fingers in a tub of paste, and guided me in making a lotus flower. From what I could gather, it was a religious group (I got a pamphlet about a temple) and the lotus flowers are to commemorate Buddha’s birthday in a couple of weeks. I think. Maybe.

I continued to wander, now carrying my beautiful hot pink lotus flower. I went up this street and that. After about 45 minutes, I stopped. *sigh* I’m never going to find it. I looked up and lo and behold, there it was. Talent Hair Salon. I climbed the stairs and walked in. I smiled at the receptionist. I had practiced what I would say during my wandering. Annyong ha-say-yo. Pree-tee jushipshay-yo. She looked very flustered. I seem to have that effect on people. She took my bag, my lotus flower, and my jacket and put them in a locker. She helped me into a robe and led me to a chair. It was a good sized salon, maybe 25 or 30 stations. Almost all of the stylists stared at me, giggling. I heard whispers of “miguk… miguk….”

I sat down in the chair. Three stylists came over, giggling. I smiled, said hi, then repeated, “Pree-tee jushipshay-yo. Bleach-chee.” They laughed, fingered my hair, then one left and returned moments later with a hair color sample chart. I pointed to the color I wanted, then held up chunks of my hair to indicate I only wanted *part* of my hair dyed, not all of it. Another left then returned, mixing a pungent foam concoction which made my eyes sting. I squeezed my eyes to keep from crying. I felt her applying the foam to my hair. It was at that moment I realized the tenacious nature of communication. What do they think I’ve asked for? I kept my eyes closed. It’s only hair, I thought. The worst that could happen is, well, I guess it could all fall out. Okay, so I’d save money on shampoo.

An hour later my head was being shampooed and massaged. By far, the best part of going into a hair salon. Okay, even if the dye job is a disaster, it was worth however much won I’m paying to have this done. Back to the chair and the drying began. I still kept my eyes closed. Please, just let it look, not monstrous. I only opened my eyes when I heard the *snip* *snip* of the scissors. I tried to stop her, but it had already been done. I have the bangs of a 12 year old again. Just then, I caught my image in the mirror. Wow. It definitely wasn’t what I expected. But I wasn’t displeased. I kind of like it. She had dried my hair so that it wasn’t the normal wavy mane that usually surrounds my face. It was slick as glass, hanging straight by my face, appearing to have grown an instantaneous 3 inches longer. Delicate streaks of bleach blond wove in and out of the dark background. She, very proud of her work, said, “So pretty.” Khamsa hamnidaaaa. And I really meant it.

I walked out on the street and stopped. I was a little disoriented. Which way to the bus stop? As I turned, I was face to face with a young Korean man. “Oooooo – more beautiful….” he said. The ultimate compliment upon leaving a beauty salon…