Novus TV

The regular monthly visit to the hairdresser should be an occasion to look forward to. Sitting back in the comfortable chair while your hair is being tenderly treated, the scalp expertly massaged by the experienced and well trained hairdresser. All this while the soft music in the background caresses the sense and makes you feel at peace with everything. Forgotten are the pressures from work, the family squabbles, the running around taxing the children from one activity to the other, and all the other activities which bring you to exhaustions at the end of the day. This is your time, when only you count in the assured certainty that very soon you will look your greatest again.

This is certainly not the regular ritual one wishes to get over and done with. The visit to the hairdresser is a must for almost every woman but unfortunately this wonderful experience is fast become a thing of the past. The mature and long serving person who has been your friend and confidant has had enough of the long hours, the six days over the long fifty weeks of the year; she has now decided to finally retire. She has sold the very profitable business to a much younger person and has disappeared forever into the warmth and comfort of another state.

As I approach the Salon with a feeling of trepidation I wonder at what I will find. But nothing I had imagined could have prepared me for the shock that awaited me. As I push the door open a blast of loud rock music (or was it rap?) hits my eardrums making me reel on my high heels. The light are all turned down low, making it hard to actually see to whom I am standing in front of, is it a woman or a man?  The bright multicoloured head bobbing to the tune of fracas like noise is saying something I can’t grasp. It grabs my arm and directs me to a modern contraption which is more like a dentist chair: there is nothing about it that induces comfort and security. 

Without even being consulted on how i want my hair done, the clown like person (still have not figured out the gender) begins to play with my hair, pushing it from right to left and up and down. Did I hear correctly? I think it said that my hair is dry and old and without any warning of its intentions, grabs the scissors and is just about to cut……..

This is the last straw in a bizarre situation which could have ended in disaster.  Like a bolt of lightning I jump out of the chair, pull the apron off my neck and with  a swiftness I never knew i had, grabbed my bag and escaped from that madhouse to  the quietness of the heavy traffic in the city streets: at long last, I could hear myself think again.

On the way back to the car I started thinking that perhaps it was I who was getting old and had not noticed the changes that were occurring around me: like for example, services were being taken over by younger business people who did things differently

The more my mind kept working on this line of thought, the more depressed I became.  What was going to happen to me and other women my age and older? Were we going to be condemned to go around with our growing hair tied in a bun? Or have it styled in one of the up- beat styles cut in all different length which only look good on the young and ridiculous on the more mature person?

But then my mature reasoning started to come back. Why should I be intimidated by a young person who did not have my experience and my knowledge? Why should I give up my beautiful black bob which suited me? With these thoughts,  flooding back into my mind I decided there and then that tomorrow I was going to look for a new hairdresser. One who was going to listen to and give me the service I want, and not what they think I should have: after all, I am the one who is paying.