The one who did my hair was a Korean stylist who’s been living in the US for at least 30 years. She speaks good English but she still carries with her the Korean accent. She’s tall and pretty. I couldn’t believe it when she told me she’s almost 70. She looks ten years younger.
My appointment was at 12 noon but I arrived at 11;45 am. She wanted to shampoo my hair. I told her I had already shampooed my hair less than an hour ago. She said she needed to wet my hair. I told her my hair was still wet. She said my hair must be wet before she could blow dry it. She said it was a different kind of wet. She frowned and led me to a private room inside the salon.
She sprayed water on my hair while complaining that she must wet my hair and it should be a different wet. I didn’t know the difference between her wetting my hair and me coming to the salon with wet hair.
Hairstylist—–“From what country are you?”
Hairstylist—-“You have very good skin. Vietnamese and Korean same, good skin, white skin, puri-ty face. Piripino they are ug-ry. Skin not good, face not pu-ri-ty. I like Vietnamese. Piripino not good, ug-ri.”
I told her many Filipinos are pretty. Miss Universe materials. I didn’t try to argue with her. I was in a hurry and I wanted her to finish drying my hair fast.
She thought I was Vietnamese.
K—“I don’t like Piripino. I told my son not to bring Piripino girls at home. Even Chinese people don’t like Piripino. If you marry Piripino you get the whole package. You marry the uncle, the cousins, the grandma. They bring everybody to the house. I don’t like.”
Me—–“I am like that too. We are family oriented. We like to be together.”
I thought if I talk about other things, maybe she would relax a little so I ask about her husband. Enkkk. Bad topic. While brushing my hair, she repeatedly said “I hate my husband. I hate him. I don’t like him. I don’t like him. I don’t like him”. Lalong sumungit.
She said they divorced 15 years ago and she now lives by herself.
Her sons moved to a different state and they are all doctors.
Sons! Kids! Children! All mothers love to talk about their children and are proud of them so I asked about her sons.
Me—–“Are they married?”
The eldest son is married to a white girl and she said she likes her a lot.
The youngest has a Korean girlfriend he met online. Ennkkk! A super bad topic. Her frowns turned into looks of anger. I was in a hurry because I have a wedding to catch. My wedding. My hairstylist was no longer in her best element. She sounded and looked in a terribly bad mood. Oh my fault. Instead mapabilis, bumagal sya because her concentration was no longer on my hair.
Korean——“My son is a doctor and this waitress quit her job so she could f_ck my son every day.”
She put down the hairbrush she was holding with her right hand and instead touched her va-gina. Ulkkkk!
K—–“I don’t like her I don’t like her I don’t like her. She’s a golddigger.”
Me—-“Did you tell your son that you don’t like her?”
K—–“Yes many times. He said the more you hate her the more I will love her.”
(Ginatungan ko pa.)
K——“My son worked so hard to become a doctor. She’s just a ramen girl. Now she doesn’t want to work because she found a doctor with money. She’s nothing.”
It was already 1 pm and I didn’t anticipate that this would take so much time. I could have set the appointment by an hour earlier. The blowdrying probably took half hour but her venting out took another half-hour.
She told me to have my make-up done first then come back so she could touch up my bangs.
I asked her if she also does permanent waves. Curls. She said my English was wrong. She said it’s pronounced as we-eyv. Not waves.