I’m A Assistant Hairstylist , Cut Messy Lady`s Hair, My Boss Threatens To Fire,and Later…
The Beginning of an Aspiration
This takes me back to when I was in fifth grade. My sister, who is three years younger, had some kind of crazy idea to cut her own hair, and it turned into a total disaster. Trying to fix her over-trimmed bangs, she ended up taking scissors here and there until it was irreparable.
The mess was so bad that even I, a boy, would have been embarrassed to be seen in public like that. My poor sister was so shocked by the horror she created that she shut herself off from the world. Seeing this, our mom, not willing to let things remain as they were, turned to a trustworthy hairstylist friend, asking her to help after her salon was closed for the day.
Even though my sister brought this upon herself, I couldn’t help but feel sorry for her. I was worried about her lack of responses to my attempts to cheer her up, so I decided to accompany her to the salon. Once at the salon, she was led to the styling chair where she hunched over and stiffened up; she must have been worried about whether her hair would ever look normal again.
The hairstylist, who was around my mom’s age, spoke gently to her, slowly easing her tension as she started to cut and style my sister’s hair. My sister began to respond to her comforting words, and by the time she had finished and checked her reflection, she was able to muster a small smile. Seeing this, I was moved by the power of a haircut to bring a smile to even the most upset person.
Struggles in the Salon
I began to admire the hairstylist. With that aspiration, I graduated high school and enrolled in a beauty school, eventually landing a job in a salon. Despite my eagerness to cut and style my own clients’ hair as soon as possible, I found myself stuck with chores.
Every day I put my heart into the work, seeing it as part of my learning, but the salon manager was harsh with newcomers, and I felt like we didn’t get along. He would often make snide remarks, and there were also some seniors who took this as an opportunity to make things difficult for me. Each time there was a mistake, I would be blamed, and although I felt like I was losing confidence, I didn’t quit.
I was allowed to practice cutting hair after the salon closed, which made me stick with it. One day while working, I noticed a woman peeking into the salon from outside. The manager and other staff noticed her as well, but they didn’t seem to recognize her as a potential customer.
She had long, unkempt hair, and her eyes were hidden by her bangs. I thought about asking the manager if I should talk to her, but he flatly told me not to do anything unnecessary. After a while, the woman disappeared from the storefront.
The Mysterious Practice Model
After closing, I was practicing my cuts when I noticed the same woman standing in front of the shop. It was getting dark, which made her seem a bit eerie. As I opened the door to let her know we were closed for the day, she timidly asked if she could get a haircut.
It was after hours, and I wasn’t authorized to take clients. I wanted to turn her down, but she explained that she had been too shy to ask during the day with other customers around and couldn’t give up, so she had returned. Considering her as a practice model, I decided to accept her request to cut her hair.
I was starting to lose confidence, but I had a feeling that if I could make this woman smile with my haircut, something might change. I tried to ease her tension by recalling how the hairstylist had calmed down my sister. She left the style up to me, so I suggested a daring shortcut.
She seemed surprised and hesitated a little, but she agreed, saying:
“If you say so.”
Once the woman relaxed, she spent the entire time with a calm smile, surrendering herself to my haircut. We didn’t exchange many words, but I felt an enjoyable unity with the customer, as if she was drawing out the best of my skills. Once the cut was over, the woman looked in the mirror and left the shop with a shy smile, bowing her head to me repeatedly.
