Pkchukiss - Reality Wine

I don’t really like to slather chemicals onto my already messy hair, but the disorganisation drove me mad enough to get down and have it put into its rightful place once and for all.

The front fringes like to curl, and they spare no time in doing so after I get my hair cut. Some clumps looked like the curly fries you can get from McDonalds, while others just coil up like a centipede.

I met a friend at the local train station early in the morning to have breakfast before we went down to a household salon in Yishun to have those furs ironed.

There were many hawker stalls already open for business at 9am in the morning, but we ended up having vegetarian noodles, since both of us were not in the mood for the heavy-hitters. The alluring smell of fried carrot cake tempted me from the pious indulgence, which was something that took a little more willpower, and a grab at the flab to overcome. Fats are one of the worst enemies of diet, since they take time to burn, and are sinfully easy to pile on.

We hopped onto the bus down to Yishun, where we met another friend. The 3 of us were going to getting our hair straightened at the same time, so it was a taxi ride down to the rural reaches of the country.

The salon is set up at the living room of a flat. It was literally possible to follow the scent of chemicals to the house after walking out of the lift. Inside were many ladies, all in various stages of rebonding.

First, they apply some conditioner, which I presume is to prepare the hair for the straightening. After soaking the hair in the chemical for about half-an-hour, it is washed off, and the hair is then blown dry. Next, a clapper-type hair iron is used to force the strands into attention. Mine flew like a spaceship in the air after being heated. It looked very, very cool without any curls, and I flailed the hair a little to see them hover in the air.

Immediately after that, a setter is applied to the hair, and I had to wait for another half-an-hour for the hair to stew. Then it was off to the wash-basin to wash everything off.

They were too busy to blow my hair dry, so I was left to have the entire patch dry in the room. Already, the effects were visible: largely uniform hair strands, except for the few that couldn’t be reached by the iron because my hair was still quite short. It is nice for once to have hair that doesn’t curl up in front.

The two ladies with me had to take a longer time to have their hair rebonded, since their hair were way longer and denser. While we waited, I amused myself by looking around the household. There is a guest room that got converted into a steam-room, with two hair steamers standing at the side of the room. One lady sat with her head half-hidden by the dome, and steam was gushing out of the steamers. Her head looks like a bun from where I was, and the three of us giggled at the sight.

The lady boss’s children were having tuition in one of the other two rooms, which I presumed was their own rooms, since they had cartoonish bed-frames, and a computer at one side. Other stuff were kept in weird niches in the house: a sewing machine in the kitchen, along with the wash-basin to wash off all those chemicals. The living room contained a television set and a display of hair-care products right next to it.

My hair treatment eventually cost $50, which was a whole lot cheaper than I had expected to pay, from what I see in salons around town. It really pays to go down the beaten path, instead of driving down the nicely paved roads: the entire affair could have cost double if I were to do it in the city.

A very interesting event happened after we left the salon. When we reached the main road to hail a taxi, a surprisingly 100% of the empty ones that passed by failed to stop for us. We waited for a good half-an-hour without being picked up, and had to take a feeder bus instead. Incidentally, on our way to the bus stop, a taxi driver came by and stopped for a lady further down the road. I asked my friend to pinch me, just in case we were dreaming, transparent, dead, or any combination of the above.

As the feeder bus wound around the estate, we found a hidden niche where all the taxi drivers have stopped at, with no passenger in sight. Were those predators just betting on getting frustrated commuters to dial for the cab instead? My respect for taxi drivers whom stoop so low to earn an extra $3.20 booking fee has dropped way past the negative.

It is because of things like these, that I am grateful for karma.

Filed under: General