It’s very heart wrenching for me to share this story, but I am going to tell you all the tale of the head rape, so you all BEWARE in the future! I got a little too confident with being a “risk taker” and now my scalp is paying for it. Sigh.
So, yesterday I headed to Baltimore to obtain some Oyin hair products. I was excited, skipping down the sketchy streets of the city in a green miniskirt and grey knee high boots. Hey, what can I say, every day is a fashion show. Anyway, I got to Oyin, and they were super helpful. Although I was set on getting some Whipped Pudding, the woman told me that I would actually be better off with the Juices & Berries leave in (hilarity ensued later when my friend was like, “Damn, your hair is soft, what do you put in it? Juices and berries??” and I was like, “YES!!!”), Shine and Define cream and the Burnt Sugar pomade, which was cool. I left Oyin, happy with my purchases, pretending to talk on the phone as I passed by a group of men so they wouldn’t try to talk to me. Heeeeey creepers! I was practically at my car when this guy goes, “Excuse me, ma’am?” and I pretended I didn’t hear him. Again, he says, “Hey, excuse me, I have a question about your hair, I work at this barber shop right here.” I was intrigued. He proceeds to pitch me: “I see your nice haircut over here, and I could clean it up in a couple of places, it’ll only take twenty minutes and I won’t even get in your pockets. It looks like I could do a 3-2-1 on it.” What the heck is a 3-2-1?
“Really?” I asked the man, looking at him with the side eye. He nods yes, and in a spontaneous brain fart, I say, “Hmmm, okay, let’s see what you can do.” and I proceed to follow him into the shop. Okay, let’s get something straight — clearly, this dude was trying to holla, but eh, what the hell.
Fast forward a little bit, I’ll spare you the details of him telling me how pretty I am and how he wanted to take me to lunch — uck. So dude breaks out his razor with a guard on it; the only time I am ever near a razor is when I cut my dog’s hair, and I never take off too much, so seeing the razor I was like eh, okay, whatever. HOWEVER, he “clipped” a piece of my little ‘fro and I SHRIEKED, “What the hell did you just do I CAN SEE MY SCALP AHHHH!” And he’s like, “Oh, you didn’t want it that short?!” WHAT THE HELL MAN. I was like, “Holy shit I’m going to look like a boy,” as I sat there with my lip trembling. “Well, sigh, you might as well finish now.”
30 minutes pass and this dude is still butchering my head as I glare at him. I say, “Um…I need to put more money in my meter, if I get a ticket while I let you ruin my hair I’m going to be even more pissed. Uh… I have no more change though.” I run outside with the barber cape thing still on, ask a couple of dudes outside for 50 cents, and go put more money in. The barber says to his friends, “Doesn’t she look cute?” And the men reply, “I mean, I think it’s good, but all that really matters is what she thinks. I’d still holla though.” I glare at them all.
As dude finishes an hour later (20 minutes my ass), he tries to cut the top of my hair and I was like, “DO. NOT. TOUCH. MY. HAIR. UP. TOP.” He already made me look like an extra from a Salt N’ Peppa video in red spandex shorts. He is all like, “Look man, you’re making me look bad in front of my people.” I replied, “Well, maybe you shouldn’t have cut all my damn hair off.” Oh yea, I was salty, but I was still trying to be remotely civil because I needed him to finish and not make me look all uneven and ish. So he is walking me to my car and asking me out again–WOMP. Maybe he wanted me to look like crap so only he would have me. Wrong buddy, so wrong. He’s all telling me how he is employed and in school, and asking me to lunch. No. No. No. So THEN, he tries to get me to PAY him. Um…yea, not happening. He was like, “Yea I said you didn’t have to pay if you don’t like it. This is a business.” I was like, “I DON’T!” A woman inside yells at him about having customers and he finally leaves me alone when I told him that I’d come back to the shop next time I go to Oyin. Oh, Baltimore. I hate you.
Anyway, here’s the result of his butchering. Sigh. I just keep thinking, “Well, at least hair grows back.” WildChild is sad. Peace out world.