On Following Instructions

The hairdresser story

I am learning Python again. I am remembering a story that was a little bit surreal. I will share it.

It was New York City, the summer. I had booked a haircut on a friend’s recommendation. My hair has a curl, and so it can be easy to mess up. Haircuts are expensive, and they can be expensive and also bad, so I take recommendations for where to go. I had to wait a week for the appointment — a good sign. They were busy.

The day came. It was a very hot day. I was thirsty just from the walk, but knew that salons often have water because sometimes people have to wait. I walked the 12 minutes or so to the location, and in New York City in the summer heat, I arrived sweating. It was bad.

I asked for water, but they did not have water. I asked maybe they have some tap water, or the bathroom, but they said this is impossible. I got into my chair dutifully. The stylist asked me what I wanted. I said I want it straightened up, and maybe something smart done with my fringe in the front. She asked me what I wanted, and I said I wasn’t really sure. She asked me again, she was grumpy. I said I don’t know. She asked again, more and more noticeably grumpy.

I burst into tears.

I was very thirsty, and it was my special day, and the haircut was expensive, and now I was made to feel bad. Something like this happened once before, when I went to get a haircut and it turned out my scalp was bleeding. The hairdresser was startled, but I was also startled because I was the person who just learned my scalp was bleeding. She gave me a haircut but wasn’t too happy about it.

The owner of the salon and the main hairdresser saw that I was full of tears, and lives in New York and runs his own business, so I am guessing knows people. He told me he will make me look like a princess, like a model, that I will be fabulous, that he will give me a special blowout. A woman had somehow found a glass of chilled water. I sat there in his chair, with my tears and my water. And then he started telling me stories.

He told me that he is married to a woman from the exact same village as he is from, and knew her from when they were preteens. He says this is good, to marry somebody who you know deeply like this. He asked me when I was from.

He told me he is known for his hair coloring. He asked me if I knew what made him so good. He showed me a package for one of the dyes. He asked me to read the instruction, and tell him what it means. I thought it was a trick question — there was some basic math.

He told me that the chemists know what they are doing. He says that when he buys dyes, he follows the instructions. He says that many hairdressers like to be artists. They like to think they are figuring something out. They play with the formula. Or, they do not think the instructions are so important. They do the math, but they do it wrong. Him — he follows the exact instructions on the package. And it always comes out well. This is his secret.

I never forgot that.