I’ve tried unsuccessfully to walk in for a spontaneous hairdo, but the program is so popular that reservations are required. Yesterday, I finally remembered to call ahead for an appointment, and when I hung up, my fellow carpenters questioned the wisdom of trusting a student to cut my hair in the final hours before her college spring break started. I had not thought of that.
Maybe it was seeing all the disembodied heads in the cosmetology classroom, or maybe it was eavesdropping on an exchange about the consequences of excessive heat and chemical treatments, but I admit, I started to get a little anxious as I waited in reception, in earshot of a lecture on pedicure protocols.
When my stylist arrived, it was everything I could do to refrain from asking her to “measure twice, cut once”—like we do in carpentry class.
But there was no need. She was as capable and lovely as any fully licensed hair professional I have ever visited. She’s been in cosmetology class exactly as long as I’ve been in the Building Construction Technology, and I only hope that someday I’ll be able to build houses as well as she styles hair. I paid $2 and feel like a million bucks.