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“She tried to be all tough until she realized your client wasn’t playing with her. She was rude and everyone recognized it but her. After that, I told her that she couldn’t do that anymore. This is supposed to be a time of relaxation for our clients. No one wants to hear about somebody’s raggedy-ass baby daddy,” Tweet finished.
“I have a client that loves to help me at the shampoo bowl. You know lift her head up or scratch her hair when I’m washing it like I’m missing spots. All that does is get water all down her back, and then she complains about being wet. Just relax, geez!” Macy said.
“I hate that!” I laughed.
“Oh no, I hate when they bring in a picture thinking we are miracle workers and not stylists. I told my one client,um boo, you realize that this person’s hair is razor cut, and you're trying to keep your length. That’s not going to work!” Tweet laughed.
“Right, she’d walk out of here with a hairstyle that looks like a hair helmet,” Macy laughed.
“Speaking of shampoo bowls, I had a client that never closed her eyes at the shampoo bowl. She would just stare at me the entire time I washed her hair. The first time she did it, I thought I couldn’t hear her and kept saying, huh? But she wasn’t saying anything; she just wanted to make constant eye contact.”
“Oh, my Gawd, are you saying that she just watched you the whole time?” Macy laughed.
“Girl, yes. I never knew what to do with myself. I used to wash her hair so fast!” I laughed.
The bell over the door sounded indicating our first client of the day had arrived.
“Welp, time to put this coffee to work!”
* * *
Isurvived Ms. Elaine and several other clients before sitting down in my chair to enjoy my lunch before my next wave of clients were set to arrive.
“Morris brought his youngest daughter over this morning because she’d put her entire head underwater. She had a head full of coils,” I laughed.
“Brought her over?” Tweet said aloud, but her eyes asked the real question.
“Yes,” I ignored her eyes and continued, “he tried to fix it himself, but he couldn’t do it.”
“Morris knows his big ass is fine as hell,” Tweet said.
“Morris? The one with the beard that goes to Blacc to get his hair cut?” Macy asked. “Oh, he could get it.”
“Without a doubt,” Nuri cosigned.
“What does he look like?” Cindy, Tweet’s client, asked.
“He’s about six feet tall, medium brown skin, full, thick beard. He’s a big dude; broad chest and big arms. He smells good all the time,” Nuri described.
“Dang, Nuri, I hope Dennis don’t hear you describing another man like that,” I laughed.
“Ain’t no ring on this finger,” Nuri said while holding up her left hand.
“Girl, whatever! You be talking cash money shit knowing you and Dennis are hood married,” I chuckled.
“Right, what is the criteria for a hood marriage?” Macy asked.
“Living together for more than two years,” I started.
“Check,” Macy responded.
“Throw random-ass ghetto barbecues after they fight and make up.”
“Check,” Tweet chuckled.
“Oh, have several hundred pictures at clubs or events in matching outfits,” I finished.
“Check!” Macy laughed.
