?Running With Scissors ?

?c h a p t e r 01?

I was about to run out the door when Michael calls after me. Being in such a rush, I forgot about him and his fossilized eggs.

"Don't you have work to do or are you going to stay here and burn down the rest of my kitchen?"

"Wow. Sassy today, aren't you? I was just going to tell you to be safe, don't kill the customers, and not to forget my kiss." I rolled my eyes but kiss his cheek anyways.

"Lock up when you leave and don't try on my shoes." I make the 'I'm watching you' finger gesture and he shoots me the bird as I closed the door.

***

A few minutes later I pull into the same parking spot I've used for two years and make my way towards 'Serenity Salon'.

I find the name ironic because my job is anything but serene and the manager, Mindy, makes sure of it. I'm not myself when I'm at work. Instead of my usual leggings and t-shirts, my 'uniform' includes high heels, suggestive clothing, and obscene amounts of makeup. Most days I feel like my face got gangbanged by Crayola.

I quickly change in the parking lot like the insane person I am and drag myself inside to see what new horrors await me.

It's a high-end salon with curvy couches and tall wine glasses in the waiting area and fancy tools that hang from the ceiling instead of sitting at the stations. It took me a long time to get used to pulling the hairdryer down from above and not to reach for it by the mirror like I would in a normal salon. Mindy said that it set us apart, but all it does is make me look stupid when I reach toward the counter.

"You're late, again." Mindy sings out from her office as soon as I step through the door.

She's behind a hidden corridor in her swivel chair watching me through her big rimmed glasses. I don't know how she does that but she somehow knows what everyone is doing and where we're at. It's some crazy management sixth sense or something.

I mumble that I'll stay late to make up for it when I walk past her, knowing that's what she was going to say anyway. Mindy hums, "Good because your first appointment is here early."

I look into the waiting area and mentally slammed my face against the wall.

I don't hate my job. I do, however, hate these stupid stilettos that Mindy insists are part of the dress code and sometimes, the customers. You can tell a lot about people when they come into a salon by the way they carry themselves. Because I work in a higher-end salon, people that walk in are either excited or have a pinched look that screams 'this is all of it?'. The former is the easiest clients with who I can have smooth conversations. The latter makes me hate life.

The client waiting for me is holding a purse that cost more than my soul with a bored expression as she looks at all the finery around her.

This is going to be a long day.

It wasn't always this way. When I first got my license to practice cosmetology I was ecstatic. The ability to change someone's outlook on life, the way we perceive ourselves, and to change how others see us made this occupation a dream come true. I wanted to make people happy about themselves.

I had these ideas of what being a hairdresser meant and where it was going to take my life. I had never envisioned it'd lead me to this- where I don't make a difference in people's lives and it's all for a decent paycheck. I feel like I sold my soul to the rose-gold devil.

So when at 10 am I get one of those customers that makes me hate everything, I put on the fake smile I've been accustomed to wearing.

"Um, did you not hear me? I want to look like Paris Hilton." The tall brunette standing in front of me bellows. Looking her over, I decide it will be as easier to turn her into the Kool-aid mascot but I don't tell her that.