However, enjoying a hair wash doesn’t come cheap in KL, no matter the popularity of the building the studio is in. Everywhere I went the charge was at least RM30+ so I considered myself fortunate to find one that offered service at only RM24. That is a fair price for a hair scrub and scrunge-dry service, right?
So I took a seat and a young Chinese hairstylist came over. He had a full head of dyed hair with a fringe that was almost hiding his eyes. The only time I saw his squeaky little eyes was when he lifted his head a little to ask me a question.
If looks can kill his would and no, not because he is drop-dead gorgeous or a hunk but because he is just SO angry. I swear that if I had a tape measure with me and measured his pout it could have easily reached a mile! Why is he so ANGRY?
His entire mannerisms baffled me. There was no “hello”, “how are you”, “how can I help you”...nothing! Just silence and a pouty face! After placing some hand towels around my shoulders, he reached towards a bottle I had placed on the mirror stand and pressed on the lid so the contents of the bottle came gushing onto his palm. I let out a seriously surprised + annoyed exclamation. And he shot at me with a “SHAMPOO???” No duhhh! That was my mousse! What in the world is wrong with him? He didn’t ask what was in the bottle and then got angry when he realised he had mousse all over his hand when it was shampoo he wanted. Did I tell him I brought my own shampoo? Noooo...
I felt my ears went red with anger. I couldn’t believe what was happening and so I just stared at him as he shampooed my hair. Suddenly he decided to speak. He asked me in English if I’d like to blow dry my hair and roll them up. I said no, just scrunge-dry using the diffuser. But he couldn’t understand that I didn’t want my hair rolled and straightened out. Then he got mad again. And he repeated his question and I gave him the same answer. He gave me an annoyed look and just as I was about to swear profanities, his colleague told him what to do.
Image from clker.com
At this point I was thinking of knocking him senseless with my heavy leather handbag, or the bottle of mousse or even the hairdryer. When suddenly he said, “Are you Chinese?” I checked my skin – dark brown. My eyes – very Malay eyes, complete with double eyelid. My hair – wavy and dry and big (how many Chinese girls have big, wavy hair?).
I am a typical Malay with Indonesian, Dutch, Thai and Arab lineage and he asked if I was Chinese.
Strangely when I told him I am Malay his behaviour took a 180-degree turn. And then he asked if I can speak Malay. Can I speak Malay? Why? Do I sound like I’ve been eating too much French Fries when I speaketh English?
When he found out I am Malay, speaks Malay, all his anti-social-ness disappeared into thin air. Suddenly he was all chatty. He asked if I’ve ever been to the mall before. He wanted to know my age. And if I were to ever need a treatment to consider him. Before I knew it he was revealing more about himself. How he has to handle more than 20 customers in a day on weekends, most of whom are his regulars. Then he said, “I’ve not even had a bite to eat since the studio opened this morning. I’m so hungry I can barely talk.”
My conclusion of his behaviour is: he thought I was a snobbish Chinese girl who refused to speak in my native tongue to a native boy! And my replies to him in English had annoyed him because he isn’t conversant in English and prefers to talk in Malay.
Goodness young man! Say so la! I can talk Melayu anytime. With the way he was all dressed up and his brunette mop of hair and swagger I thought he was more Western than Western itself! Adoi... Talk about assumptions.
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