Rapunzel.

Barber shops are losing so much since parlors swallowed their income, and their customers. Those barbers were idle for days, and would rejoice if long-hairs would avail their service. But unfortunately, parlors gain more profit than those shops with a red-blue-white motif.

I chose a parlor to groom my crowning glory, than to waste time finding a barber shop. These days, those barber shops own a fifth of a lot; while those parlors with gays eat up a lot of space. What I hate about parlors is the abhorring smell of that pink solution for the foot spa, and those hair products. Plus, the gay lingo! Grrr.

I sat wide enough in their sofa that serves as a waiting shed for customers waiting for their turn. The television is on, and strands of hair pollute their floors. The kingdom of gays, I mused.

Tomorrow’s our CAT and I am forced to follow their rules of having a not-that-short hair, but more of a decent one.

The time is running, and I need to go to the church at 7 pm for the Christmas Songs practice. It’s quarter to seven, yet I am the second on the waiting list. It’s irritating to know that these hairstylists cut slower than those barbers I’ve had back at Elementary. Though I admire the gays and their capability to trim hair and use the scissors and so on. It was seven o’clock when I sat at the soft parlor seat, and I am officially a customer.

Rapunzel.

Patty’s (my seatmate this Third Quarter) Mom own the parlor shop. But I need not to say Patty’s name for a discount. In a hot discussion in Economics, Patty blurted out to our teacher that their chief hairstylist (which was henceforth named Julie, though I name her Rapunzel with her hair) get a minimum profit of 30,000 a month. My teacher envied Julie since it’s more than her income.

Back to the hairstyle thing, I initiated to speak out to Rapunzel.

Layered. Maikli lang.

Kasing-ikli nung ginawa ko sayo dati?

Then, my world stopped. She recognized me even if that was ages ago? Oh well, not my business. I told her that it should be shorter than what she did last summer. Gays are accomodating but somehow, they pesters me with their questions which are irrevelant for the time being. Focus on the hair, not on the questions!

The interview started.

Girlfriend mo ba yung kasama mo dati?

Hinde. *still hesitant to talk*

Ows?

Hindi nga. *a bit mad*

Eh kaano-ano mo yun?

Wala lang.

San punta mo ngayon?

Sa simbahan.

Aba, naka-polo ka pa ha. Manliligaw ka lang ata eh.

Hinde.

Panganay ka ba?

Bunso.

Ilan kayong magkakapatid?

Apat.

May kuya ka?

Oo.

Ilang taon na?

25.

Ang layo naman ng agwat?

Oo eh.

Ilang taon na ba mga magulang mo?

Mga 53 siguro. *God, I want to finish this conversation*

Ahh, so mga 35 ang mommy mo nung ipinanganak ka?

Yup.

San nagtatrabaho kuya mo?

Sa Maynila.

Eh san ka ba nakatira?

Sa Town. *why ask?*

Town and Country?

Oo.

Sa Marilao?

Oo.

Aba, mayaman ka pala. Dun nakatira yung boy – yung kaibigan ko. *Laughs sheepishly*

Later, I am shocked with her revelation about the ex-boyfriend thing. Her description: a braced, College freshie of De La Salle University. His name was James. They met in Gio’s (the Libis of Bocaue). A fat lie. His name is not James; but John Paul. Kabarkada ko yung gagong yun! Imagine, pumatol siya dun sa bakla? Tsk.

It was 7:30, and I really need to go when she asked.

I-shampoo na kita.

Anong oras na ba?

Seven o’clock. *LIAR!*

I had the shampoo. My hair was great. I walked out and gave the clerk forty pesos for my payment in that long haircut sessions. I don’t think I have plans of going back at that parlor.

~ by utakgago on October 21, 2006.