_ _****_They lift me into the 6 feet deep and dark hole, but they don’t know how the bugs will eat away parts of my brain that belong to you. Parts of my heart with your name carved into it. Your name runs through the blood in my veins, only now the blood has stoped flowing and the flesh eating bugs and worms are confused by the memories they have eaten of you. They see and feel how I felt through all of those years. Hatred. Love. Revenge. Desire. Regret. All of those things belong to what you made me into. I gave everything I had and more. Nothing made you love me the way that I loved you. If you had have asked me, I would have carved your name into the deepest parts of my soul. I would have stopped my heart in the cruelest way to mankind if it meant yours may Carry on beating with a steady pace. _

Sarah drummed a bored rhythm on the laminate countertop, the silence and her beloved beauty salon broken only by the rhythmic hum of the ventilation fan. A stray curl, escaped from her usually neat bun, danced in front of her eyes. Just as she considered braiding it back in, the salon door chimed, announcing a customer.

The woman who sashayed in was a vision of blonde ambition. Her hair, a cascade of gleaming gold, bounced with each perfectly measured step. Her tailored Escada suit whispered of power lunches and corner offices.

Sarah stood to greet the woman, secretly wondering how on earth she could manage to walk in those stilettos. "Welcome to Styles by Sar—" She began, a practiced smile on her face. The woman threw a perfectly manicured hand up, cutting her off. "No time for pleasantries, darling. I need Rapunzel hair, pronto. And make it the kind that turns heads."

Sarah blinked, momentarily speechless. Recovering, she plastered on a customer-service smile, tighter than a drumhead. "Of course, ma'am," she said stiffly, her voice laced with forced sweetness.

"Tiffany," the woman declared, flipping a long strand of hair over her shoulder. "And efficiency is my middle name. Preferably, get me in and out of that chair faster than you can blink,’’ she finished smugly.

Sarah stifled a sigh. "We'll do our best to accommodate you, Tiffany," she said, leading her towards the shampoo station. "Let's start with a consultation. What kind of look are you going for today?"

"The million dollar look, obviously," Tiffany replied, rolling her eyes dramatically.

As Sarah began to lather the expensive shampoo into Tiffany's hair, she winced internally. Tiffany kept flinching at the slightest touch. At one point, Sarah even had to switch shampoos mid wash. when Tiffany realized she was using Oribe shampoo, Sarah thought her eyes were going to pop out of her head. “My scalp is far too sensitive for that garbage! “ Tiffany screeched, nearly jumping out of the shampoo chair.

Sarah gritted her teeth and switched to a gentler, pricier shampoo, dodging another round of Tiffany's commentary on the salon's "disappointing" selection. The rinsing process was no easier. The water temperature, according to Tiffany, was "either an arctic blast or a fiery inferno," with no happy medium.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Sarah managed to towel-dry Tiffany's hair without incurring any wrath. "Now, about the cut," Sarah ventured, flipping through a magazine filled with trendy styles.

Tiffany scoffed. "Honey, those styles are so last season. I need something that screams 'I own a yacht, but haven't the faintest idea how to sail it.'"

Sarah forced a laugh. "Cutting-edge, then? How about a long, layered look with subtle highlights?"

Tiffany wrinkled her nose. "Too common. Everyone and their chihuahua has layers these days."

With annoyance and desperation clawing at her, Sarah showed Tiffany a picture of a model with a head-turning, asymmetrical bob. Tiffany's eyes widened. "Bingo! But make sure it accentuates my cheekbones and doesn't, under any circumstances, make me look like a poodle."

Throughout the haircut, Sarah snipped and styled with the precision of a brain surgeon, all while Tiffany incessantly checked her phone, barking orders at unseen assistants, and complaining about the air conditioning being "a degree too warm." By the time Sarah was done, she was a tangled mess of nerves, but a triumphant smile played on her lips. The cut looked amazing, framing Tiffany's face perfectly. "Voila!" She announced, a hint of sass in her voice.

Tiffany appraised her reflection in the mirror, her lips pursed. A beat of silence stretched between them. Then, Tiffany did something unexpected. A genuine smile spread across her face. "You know," she said, her voice free of its usual haughtiness, "this actually looks quite good. Maybe you're not such a novice after all."

Sarah blinked, momentarily stunned. Then, a slow smile spread across her own face. Maybe, just maybe, this ordeal had been worth it. ‘’ so you’ll refer me to your friends then?’’ She asked with a hopeful smile.

Tiffany turned to her, her smile faltering. “I didn’t say all of that, honey,’’ she said flatly, before standing up in sashaying out of the salon.

Cassie, the hairdresser, was used to dealing with all kinds of clients, but today she was faced with a particularly challenging one - Michael. As soon as he sat down in her chair, she could tell it was going to be an interesting experience.

Cassie: “So, Michael, what are we thinking today? A trim or something more adventurous?”

Michael: “Hmm, I’m not sure. Maybe just a trim… no, wait! Let’s go for something adventurous. How about a Mohawk?”

Cassie: “A Mohawk? Alright, that’s definitely adventurous! Are you sure about this?”

Michael: “Actually, scratch that. Let’s go for a buzz cut instead. No, wait! How about a fade?”

Cassie tried her best to keep up with Michael’s ever-changing ideas. She grabbed her scissors, only to have him change his mind once again.

Michael: “You know what? Let’s just keep it long. I want to look like a rockstar!”

Cassie: “Alright, long it is. But remember, you wanted something adventurous, so maybe we can add some layers or highlights?”

Michael: “Hmm, you’re right. Let’s do layers and highlights! But wait, can we make it shorter too?”

Cassie couldn’t help but chuckle at Michael’s indecisiveness. She started cutting his hair, but he couldn’t seem to sit still.

Michael: “Oops, sorry! I just remembered I left my phone in the car. I’ll be right back.”

Cassie: “Sure, take your time. I’ll just sit here with half of your hair cut.”

Michael returned after what felt like an eternity, only to change his mind about the hairstyle again.

Michael: “You know what? Let’s go back to the original plan. I want that Mohawk!”

Cassie: “Are you sure this time?”

Michael: “Absolutely!”

Cassie, determined to give Michael the hairstyle he wanted, skillfully transformed his hair into a bold and edgy Mohawk. Michael’s face lit up with excitement.

Michael: “This is perfect! I love it!”

Cassie: “I’m glad you finally made up your mind. It suits you!”

As Michael left the salon, Cassie couldn’t help but laugh at the rollercoaster of a haircut she had just given. Dealing with indecisive clients like Michael was always a challenge, but it made her job all the more entertaining.

Today was one of my worst experiences at the salon, and I’ve been working here for five years.

My favorite client—a regular customer—wanted a trim. She was a bit early though, so I told her she had to wait until I was finished with my client.

My client is a bit temperamental, so she naturally threw a hissy fit. Went full tooth and claw, and bit my finger clean off.

That was the last time that Snowball the Persian cat would ever come to get a trim.

It stated like any other day for James, after makeing some breakfast and reading the newspaper, he hoped into his car and went to work, owning a hairdressing salon is not as easy as you think, he preps his station and he starts his day, after some good clients, in comes Ruby, she was a older woman with a sense of entitlement taller than she was and everything was a problem for her, and she would start a fight over the smallest thing, which she did, and seeing as James lost his rag along time ago, once she gave him problems, he kicked her out, but then she came back In different clothes and tryed again, and it didn’t work

THE FOLLOWING TRANSCRIPT IS THE STATEMENT MADE BY CECILIA IVERSON, HAIRDRESSER AND OWNER OF ROSENFELD BEAUTY SALON AT 186 MAIN STREET IN THE MUNICIPALITY OF ROSENFELD:

“Last time I saw Margot was last Friday, at 4:30pm.

“I remember because I looked at the clock when I saw her walking through the door. Margo comes in at 2pm first Monday of every month. And She never comes in on Friday afternoons. Never.

“What’s my relationship with Margot you ask? Well, I’d say we used to be real close friends. She owns that bakery shop across the street from my salon. Yes, that one with the blue door. And I have been working in the beauty salon for twenty years. So I must have been doing Margot’s hair for twenty years now.

“You picked it up, didn’t you. You are a smart one. I did say we USED TO be real close friends… up until about three months ago, so yeah, up until April, Margot used to come in with a dozen of her Pineapple Puffies for me at 2pm her usual appointment time, every month. The Pineapple Puffies are her best seller and not one person in Rosenfeld isn’t addicted to those Puffies. By the way, if you gonna go over later, you will see it — first item on the chalk board. She makes them so buttery flaky with these juicy pineapple bites inside. Oh you won’t believe it…

“Right, yes. So she came in 4:30 last Friday, which was very strange. Friday afternoons she always gets a long line of customers waiting to pick up the puffies for the weekend. She walked straight to my styling chair — I just finished with someone and was waiting for my next customer. She said to me, Cel, there is something wrong with my hair.

”I could tell she was in a twist because she was all flushed and her forehead was shiny with sweat. I have not told a soul about this but I knew exactly what worked her into a twist.

“So about three months ago, Margot came at her usual time with the box of puffies for me. She sat and we started chatting as I brusher her hair. Then I saw something… different with her hair. I saw… how to describe it… three tiny whiskers…?

“Well by whiskers I mean they were not her own hair. They were these three short hairs at the back of her head, just couple of inches above her neck. Much thicker than any human hair I’ve seen. Sort of like cat’s whiskers? Yeah. And they are GREEN.

“At first I thought it must be food coloring from the bakery. But after I cut, washed and colored her hair with her usual color sandy blond for her greys, I saw that they were still completely lime green.

“Did I tell her? Of course I didn’t tell her.

“Why not?? Because.. Well, let me tell you something. I’ve seen just about anyone’s hair in Rosenfeld for twenty years. I’ve seen hair and scalp in all kinds of conditions, any lump or rash you can imagine. Seen them all. I even style wigs for people in chemo.

“But us hairdressers are not here to do disease inspections, are we. If it is something that really matters, their doctor will tell them soon enough. It is not our business. Our business is to make people feel good about themselves, one day at a time, one hair cut at a time.

“So, I cut her hair and made sure those short green whiskers were completely covered. And that was in April.

“Pretty soon after that, Margot sort of.. changed. First we heard she was spotted multiple times driving around some eighty miles from Rosenfeld, which she had never done. She even stopped coming over to the salon to chit chat. Everyone knows the salon is the heartbeat of Rosenfeld. Anything that matters goes through the salon. Suddenly it just seemed Margot went and unplugged herself from this heartbeat.

“So when she came in last Friday, having also missed two of her appointments in May and June, I was just about ready to have a word or two with her.

“But when I saw her somehow I just knew — those three green whiskers were doing something real funny to her…”

Carla’s last client burst through the door fifteen seconds before closing time. Carla rolled her eyes, turned toward the woman before her, and wailed.

“Oh, Rosa.” She couldn’t believe her eyes. “Rosa, what did you do??”

“I did what I had to do!” The woman barked back, and then lowered her eyes to the floor. “I…I know it’s late. I had nowhere else to go.”

“Ay, díos mio.” Carla couldn’t stop herself from staring in horror. Rosa’s entire head was puffy like a marshmallow and curly like that movie about the little orphan girl. Instead of brown, her hair was not only platinum blonde, but quite damaged by bleach. It looked…painful.

“How…how could you…is that a perm?!” Carla stammered.

“Long story. Just fix it. Please. I can’t sleep like this.” And with that, Rosa plunked herself into the salon chair.

Carla didn’t know what else to do. She was supposed to go home, this would take hours, and yet…she couldn’t just leave the poor woman with hair like that. It was a tragedy, an utter tragedy. She couldn’t allow Rosa to go any longer like this.

Rosa groaned from the chair. “I’ll pay you extra, I’ll pay you double, just—“

“Shush. I’m doing it.” Carla whipped the chair around and fastened the cape around Rosa’s neck. “For your hair. Your real, beautiful hair. Not for you.”

“Fair enough.” Rosa leaned her head back. Carla took the atrocious perm in her hands, wondering where to start. “I have half a mind to shave it all off.”

Rosa whipped the chair around to stare Carla down. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

“Who is bothering my Carla at closing time??” Called a voice from the back rooms, and then Daniela emerged. Her exasperated expression quickly turned to a horrified stare. “What on earth—?”

“It’s a long story!” Carla and Rosa yelled at the same time.

Daniela raised an eyebrow, and Carla shrugged apologetically. “I’m sorry, mi amor. We will be staying late tonight.”

Daniela sighed and eased herself up onto one of the tables. “This story of hers better be long enough to get us through this night.” She crossed her legs and settled her gaze on Rosa.

Rosa executed a masterful eyeroll, almost as good as Carla’s. “Fine. Do my damn hair and I’ll talk.”

“Poor Rosa.” Carla filled the bowl at the hair washing station with warm water. “She wrecks her beautiful hair, and then she has to talk out loud. Her least favorite thing.”

“My least favorite thing is when I have to talk out loud to a snippy hairdresser twice in one day,” Rosa snapped as she lowered her head into the bowl. “I didn’t choose this. I had to go to a salon undercover for my job.”

Carla raised her eyebrows and Daniela leaned forward. “No me diga,” they breathed.

The two salon ladies listened intently as Rosa told the story. She had to find some criminal who dated a girl in Brooklyn who ran a hair salon. The girl didn’t talk much until Rosa invented some story that pushed her to talk about her ex. She had to keep asking for more hair catastrophes to get all the information she needed. First a disastrous cut, then a dye job, and then…

“A perm.” Rosa groaned. “At least we got the guy. It wasn’t for nothing.”

“And at least you know the best hairdresser in all of New York City,” Carla said as she towel-dried Rosa’s hair. “The water deactivated the perm, and the shampoo should help with the bleach damage. Now I just have to dye it back to brown.”

“Great. That should be fast,” Rosa grumbled.

The dye job took hours. Carla and Daniela took several of them trying to get Rosa to talk more.

“Tell us about your work friends,” Carla prodded her. “Tell us who’s getting married and who’s having affairs.”

“My life is too boring for any of that,” Rosa retorted.

“Oh, she is difficult,” Daniela said with a smirk.

Rosa proved Daniela right. All of Carla’s other clients sang like songbirds, telling everyone in the room all the gossip on the block. Rosa liked to act tough, but sometimes Carla could crack her if she had the time.

Carla and Daniela spent the next two hours talking Rosa’s ears off. Business, friends, family, love, until finally Rosa talked just to shut them up.

“If I tell you about my friends’ wedding plans will the two of you please stop blabbering about all of your date nights?” She snapped at them.

Carla grinned. Rosa was difficult, but she liked a challenge.

Finally, her client’s hair was a deep, chocolate brown, flowing in its natural waves down her back.

“Wow.” Rosa stared at herself in the mirror. “Thanks.”

“I added some highlights, just here and there,” Carla explained with a grand gesture. “Something to add to its natural glow, but also a reminder: that is all the blonde you need. No more, ever.”

Rosa rolled her eyes again, but then she smiled. “I owe you one. Seriously.”

She paid double, then left. Daniela shook her head as she and Carla finally locked up.

“You deserve triple,” she told Carla as they walked out, but Carla just smiled and took her hand as they went home.

She didn’t understand Rosa at all. She had her own way of doing things. But she came to Carla, because she knew she would deliver.

Sometimes, Carla liked the difficult clients. She liked a challenge.

Thanks for reading to the end! While most of the story is original, these characters are not mine.

“Well look what the cat drug in?” Alma said with a crackle.

The sound sliced Ivanka’s head. Stumbling slightly she headed for her station. Being behind her salon chair surrounded by her things helped her feel settled. A tiny sliver tucked into Little Russia Coney Island, the Venus Parlor Hair salon was a second home to her. Ivanka sat down taking a steadying breath. Anton and Katerina came out from the break room. Their laughter bounced around the tiny salon. Ivanka groaned.

“What’s wrong, dorogoy?” Anton asked holding Ivanka’s face in his hands.

“Maybe she needs the hair of the puppy,” Katerina said, arms folded.

“Idioms are not your friend, dum dum,” Anton said with a laugh. “What had happened little one?”

“Sick, not drunk, drugged. I don’t know what happened to me. I did a client’s hair at home on Saturday afternoon and woke up in an ambulance Sunday night. I never do that but this lady begged me and I caved. That’s why I missed so many days I was in hospital. I tell the police but no one believe me.”

Ivanka began to sob. In a tight circle, the stylists gathered around her.

“Politsiya,” Anton sneered.

Katrina grabbed a box of tissues while Alma turned the “Come Back Later” sign around and locked the salon door.

“Did she hurt you? Rob you?”

Anton dried Ivanka’s face searching for injuries. In a shaky voice, the young woman told the story of Svetlana, her friendly too friendly regular. She told of the customer’s continual personal questions. The endless offers to go for coffee or drinks. This Svetlana even waited outside the salon at closing to “chat.” Nodding they listened.

“The styling was perfectly normal. Updo with sweeping bangs and mink eyelashes very Audrey Hepburn. Not a lot of talk, she bought me a slice of cake, and then everything was fuzzy. My neighbor called 911 when she saw my customer leaving my apartment Sunday night. My place was ransacked and my passport and ID taken. Police say they will investigate but they look at me like I was the junkie,” Ivanka said and broke into tears.

“Cry later, revenge now,” Katerina said.

“Damn straight.” Alma snapped her her in agreement.

Anton looked around knowingly.

“The bitch didn’t want to be your friend. She wanted to be you.”

Mouth open, Ivanka froze as the realization dawned.

“The police—“

“No, we take care of our own,” Anton said. “Katerina call Mr. Alexander, there’s work to be done.”

So my cousin Thomas has a wife and 4 kids(2 boys 2 girls). So every time when it’s time to take the boys go to the barber they have to go separate. Ethan is 3 1/2 years old & his brother Everett is 4 years old. Ethan is even more difficult because he doesn’t talk ,he doesn’t communicate & he also doesn’t know any better. Everett on the other hand will possibly sit still and it’s a smooth process.

“I know it’s not glamorous,” the dean of students told Clove, “but community service is an important part of being an August Witch.”

“Is there any way I can skip this?” Clove asked. “I’d really rather do more homework.”

“No,” the dean said. “I’ve assigned you to work as a hairdresser because the barber shop is struggling to find help. As a sealant witch, you are perfect for the assignment. Your clients will have perfect hair for months.”

So here Clove was, dressed in an apron, standing behind a chair, waiting on her first client.

The door opened. Ding. In walked the processing witch.

“Your first client,” Lavender said.

Clove walked forward to meet the processing witch.

“You?!” the processing witch said. “What are you doing here? I thought you wanted to be an August Witch now. And you were so difficult to place. My most difficult client to date.”

“No,” said Clove, “I’d rather not become an August Witch, but I am still at Afterglow Academy. It’s community service day, so I’m helping out.”

The processing witch wrinkled her nose. “Well, don’t just stand there,” she said. “Are you going to cut my hair or not?”

Clove lead the processing witch over to the chair.

The processing witch sat down.

Clove put a cover over the processing witch.

“Too tight,” the processing witch said. “Loosen it.”

Clove complied.

The haircut proceeded in this manner.

First, the processing witch insisted that Clove had left her hair too long. Then, she said Clove over corrected by making her hair too short. She said that Clove had made her hair too uneven. She said that Clove had made her hair too even. She said her hair was too curly. She said her hair was too straight. She said her hair was too flat. She said her hair had too much body.

Clove started to look at the bottle of pink dye on the counter. She imagined how the processing witch would look with pink hair. She was seriously considering using the dye on the processing witch.

“Wow,” Clove said. “It seem that, no matter what I do, you are not satisfied.”

The processing witch tilted her head. “Sounds familiar, doesn’t it?” she asked. “Someone who isn’t content with any of the options, who is never satisfied.”

Clove didn’t respond and finished the haircut.

Clove thought about cutting out a random chunk of the processing witch’s hair, but she held back.

“Please look in the mirror,” Clove said, “and let me know if any more changes are needed.”

The processing witch looked and studied her reflection. “You know,” she said. “It’s not half bad. You are a difficult client and a difficult hairdresser, but you got it right eventually. I’ll have to see you for all of my haircuts from now on. I think you owe it to me for causing me so much trouble.”

Clove had no intention of cutting hair ever again after today. She wanted to spend all of her time studying and trying to improve her grades and to compete with Oleander.

“I want to focus on school,” Clove said. “If you can get me extra credit for it…” Clove shrugged. “Maybe.”

As the processing witch left the shop, Clove watched the back of the processing witch’s head, looking for a tiny streak of pink hair. She found it and smiled.