Posted by Abdel Kadz on Thursday, June 26, 2008 with 6 comments
It’s been a week now since I went to the salon to have my hair (ahem) treated. As I only have my locks trimmed twice a year, thrice if I’m not too lazy to go to the barbers, my hair has gotten quite long to the surprise of a lot of people, especially those outside the confines of my workplace—my college friends and my family.

My crowning glory has always posed a problem to me. You see, I have thick, rebellious hair that when I opt for the shorter do, they’ll stand on their ends. Years before, in our college department where long locks are taboo, probably because as health care professionals in the making we need to look the part, I had no choice but to sport a haircut that passed the department’s “well-groomed” standards. This Fido-Dido quintessence of my hair was the reason why all throughout my college days I always had a cap on, and suffice it to say, I collected quite a few.

When I finally got my diploma and my work license a few months after that, I ended up working not as a physical therapist but as a call center agent for an inbound account of one of the biggest names in computer hardware production in the US. It was as an agent that I started growing hair on my head (not what you think, but I like how green you are!). I shifted from caps to bonnets also, and before long, to fully exposing my hair in all its splendor.

I’ve received compliments though that how my hair is long and rock-ish fitted me perfectly, and (ahem) I also got ogled at by people, males, and females both. With the latter, it’s probably because of my stunning good looks (nyahah). With the former, hmm, I could only think of three reasons as to why they’d give me the once-over. One, I look like somebody they know; two, I look like a local rock star they know (and I get this a lot); and three, they’re probably gays. But I’m torn between two and three as the most likely culprit.

My hair’s rebellious nature had made itself apparent recently and managing it became no easy task. I’ve also been applying for a job as a physical therapist, and that meant that I should look professional enough and not somebody who just got out of the bed, garbed on a polo shirt, went to their office, and had the spunk to apply as a hospital staff. So last Thursday, having heard of a VTO from the office (and something that was recalled after only a few minutes), I went to the salon to have my hair tamed (read: relaxed). I had qualms about having my hair chemically treated again because the last time I did, I battled hair fall for months. I even started thinking if I’d get myself a bottle of Bio-Hair. Still, because I’d rather maintain a semi-long do minus the mane-like visage for reasons earlier specified, I put my full trust on Bettina (not real name) and went under his parlor chops for about an hour. And the result, something you’d see in a VCO commercial (weheh).

It’s been a week to this day since Bettina tamed my long locks, and I’m thankful that my hair does not look like I just went to have it rebonded, although people in the office are noticing. If there’s one thing I don’t want them to think it’s how vain I am for doing so. I hope they get to read this though and understand the reason behind my hairy dilemma. It’d probably be months before I step inside a salon again (thankfully), and I’m quite satisfied with the result of this experience. For what it’s worth, at least I nicked a scheduled job interview for a physical therapy job this Monday. Teehee.