The Moonlit Path

Yesterday afternoon I decided to finally get my hair cut. A partner of mine where I work had suggested I check out her mom's new salon that opened about a few weeks ago in old town Newark. You see I use to go to a high end salon next door to where I work, but that was when my hair was long and I was willing to pay an arm and a leg to make sure it got cut right. My hair is very coarse and straight, and a simple snip just doesn't cut it (no pun intended.) After cutting my hair really short, I was no longer willing to pay much for a quick trim. That's when I started going to a small vietnamese owned salon on the newer side of Newark. The problem there was that I had to make sure to recieve a hair cut from a specific person, a lady named Miki. No one else there seemed to know what they were doing. So, considering I kind of wanted to try something new, I took her up on her suggestion and went on my way to visit her mom's "new" salon: Tu Estetica.

The "new" salon is slightly hidden between two other buildings and a few shrubs down Thornton Avenue. There didn't seem to be a parking lot when I first drove past so I parked down the next road across from a worn down apartment complex, in obvious shambles. I walked toward where the sign was posted on the street and noticed that there was a small parking lot and right behind it was a small aged and weathered down building. There was a wooden fence door beside it with the words "Open" spraypainted in red within a small circle and an arrow pointing inside. I figured that it must have been the place I was looking for, and if not, I would be walking right into a stranger's backyard. The closer I got, the scarier the situation became, and the sun suddenly was eclipsed by thick grey clouds. I walked past the fence and into an open door. Used cans of paint were stacked near the unlit entrance both inside and out. It felt like I was headed straight into a horror scene and I thought to myself if I get murdered, they'll never find my body in here. Down the darkened corridor I found myself in a room dimly lit by flickering fluorescent lights and as I entered I was greeted by my co-worker's mom. She asked me to wait while she finished up. She seemed to have been working on another customer's "head." "No problem," I said and sat down on a pleather couch placed against the wall to the right of me.

As I waited I couldn't help but look around my surroundings. This "new" salon was small. So small that it only had one salon chair and one mirror. The place also seemed a little run down and together with the flickering of lights and very dim atmosphere, it reminded me of a dirty and almost grim hospital room that one might see in the movie Silent Hill. Ok, maybe I am just "slightly" over exaggerating. Across from me was a small porcelain sink, and inside was what seemed like a bloody pair of scissors. Upon looking closer, it was just drenched in red hair dye.

As she finished, she asked me to go ahead and sit in the chair. After sitting down I realized that the customer who had been getting his hair cut while i had been waiting was the same person who was going to cut my hair. Oh my God I thought to myself and almost died. I already was uncomfortable upon entering, but now I was one hundred percent reluctant about proceeding with the session. I took a deep breath and continued anyway.

He asked how I wanted him to cut my hair. I went on about how I usually get it cut and with the length it was at the moment, I was ready for something different. He studied my face and said, "Okay, I have an idea."

As much as I would not trust him holding a pair of Crayola Cutters, let alone a real pair of scissors, I decided that I have already entered into the Twilight Zone and that I might as well get the full ride.

Half way through the session I noticed that my hair was being cut exactly the way I normally have it cut, the way in which made sure to told him not to. But being only halfway done, perhaps he was going to do something special. Being halfway done, perhaps I should have told him to stop. As he finished up, I took a glance in the mirror and thought to myself I could have just shaved my head at home. As I left, I reluctantly paid him the twelve dollars I was charged and hurried home. In retrospect, I suppose I paid twelve dollars for the frightful experience and recieved a mediocre hair cut for free. I definitely won't be going back there anytime and even revisiting that place several years into the future would be too soon. Until then, I suppose I will be going back to Miki. At least with her I know exactly what I am paying for.