Parting is Such Sweet Sorrow ... NOT!

I just finished up my last day of work in my former environment, which was a once tiny salon exploded into a bustling consumer paradise (at least for the owner). Yes, that's right: I'm a hairdresser. I've been one for over 20 years now and have devoted clients that I've known for nearly that long. They've seen me get through drug and alcohol problems, bad relationships, writer's block, getting tattooed, getting published and turning 40. Doing this kind of work takes a toll on your body; a lot of hairdressers are forced out due to eczema, carpal tunnel syndrome, back issues. But me, I’ve got it all figured out. Work 3 days, have 4 off. So far that schedule has kept the skin rashes and varicose veins at bay. But what I wasn't prepared for was the the bristling wall of attitude that would gradually begin to take shape amongst the staff that had been there longer (who were all women close to my own age) and the new ones, who were all in their 20’s (and that included the owner).

Back in 2001 when I first started this job, there were 2 stations and 4 stylists. Everyone worked part time. Frankly, it felt like heaven on earth. The environment was quiet, the windows had soft curtains. No one did perms so there wasn't that icky smell pervading. After about a year, one partner wanted out, so she sold her portion to a friend. Then the "improvements" began. Two more chairs were added, four more stylists. Major name products were brought onboard and their names became signage. The now naked windows were crowded with products on glass shelves. I found myself working right next to the owner's best friend, a loud-mouthed girl prone to conversations on topics generally accepted as inappropriate in the work place. OK, I have a life outside the salon. I decided to just leave work behind when I went out the door and that worked for a few years. But one day I was describing the usual work BS to a friend of mine (the owner reading my semi-private blog, everyone getting delivered their lunch except me or if I approach a group having a lively conversation, it instantly dies) and she exclaimed “how high school.” Hey, I hated high school while I was there, I sure didn't want to repeat it again at my age! My eyes were opened. It wasn't merely grimace worthy, lame behavior anymore. I don't expect to be queen of the hive but I at least want to be some where that appreciates a woman with work—and life—experience.

The good news is: I did find that place.