Last weekend I was looking forward to a pretty relaxing Sunday, which included a plan to get a haircut. My cousin recommended this place in Park Slope called Rapunzel Rapunzel, which I thought was a strange but interesting name. He did get a good haircut there though. Unfortunately, the lady who owns the place was busy all Sunday, so I decided to go to the only other place open near me: Arias’ Unisex Salon.
Based on the word, “unisex” alone, I probably should have waited until Monday, but I really wanted to just get it out of the way. So I went to the place, and when I walked in, I realized that everyone was speaking Spanish. Also, I quickly realized that nobody there spoke english really. This is probably when I should have left and waited until Monday, but I figured if they can’t speak english and they have a hair salon, they must be good at cutting hair. I asked for a trim, and the lady nodded in what I thought was a show of understanding. She started cutting, and after a few cuts, I asked again if it was a trim because it seemed like she was cutting a lot. She was very positive in her response. So I figured, she must know what’s she’s doing, and I let her do her work. Huge mistake. 3 minutes later, half of my hair was gone! I started telling her in Spanish (which I can sort of speak/understand), that I only wanted a little bit of hair cut. I probably should have done this sooner, but I thought their understanding of english would be better than my speaking of spanish. She brought back one of those books with the photos of people with haircuts pointed to one guy with long hair. I said, “Si!”, and she got this look of, “oh shit!” on her face. At this point I just got out of the chair, paid her, and walked out, catching a glimpse of my now butchered hair in the mirror.
Luckily, my friend Lauren can cut hair pretty well, so I called her and left a message asking her to help me out.
Then I got home and my key wouldn’t work in our apartment door. I called the super and he said he was in the city and wouldn’t be back for 2 hours. I was really pissed because I had planned on sitting back on the old couch and watching some TV or reading. Then I remembered that Saje, this cafe/restaurant around the corner, was still open and I went there. Saje pretty much saved my Sunday, because the whole place is nice, relaxing, and has cheap food. I got myself some coffee and bagels, talked to a couple of my college buddies, and read TIME magazine cover to cover in the 2 hours I had to wait.
2 hours later, one of the nice maintenance guys helped me get into my apartment with a crowbar, and the next day Lauren helped me fix my terrible haircut.
Vikas
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