On my Facebook page, I posted a small section of my story, Royally Flushed, where Ariel Triton and Eric Flynn were sucking on helium balloons and talking like chipmunks on the side of a hill. This is Belle’s story, with what she goes through at a hair salon. (Note- Anna and Elsa from Frozen are in this, but they’re the bad girls…):
But when I approached my client chair with all the utensils laid out, I almost jumped back with my hairs standing on end. Turning around in the chair was one half of my enemies who got me fired.
“Hi, Belle,” Anna chimed in her cheery tone. “I asked specifically for you. How’s life after being fired?”
“Still miserable, if you want to know,” I said. “But I can’t complain. I never really liked that job.”
“So now you’re working at this Hare Dye salon?” her other half Elsa said from the waiting area with magazines. “Not a big change, is it, books to hair styles?”
“I’ve always had a hair styling license,” I said. “My mother encouraged me to take beauty school before college. I still want to be a writer.”
Elsa flipped her long white hair braid. “And still, you haven’t come up with something you want to write yet, have you?”
I hated those two for their spikey words of contempt. They were sisters and they both won homecoming queen upon their respective senior years in high school, even if they were twins. One of them, Anna, was the sweet one, like an overly sweet candy confection, and also a total Mary Sue. The older one, Elsa, was cold and cruel, like a blizzard in June. But the one thing they knew how to do best was how to insult people like me. That was basically what our last conversation was about. “You’re just not cut out for this job.” “Kristoff hired us to bring in more customers, and we decided you’re just not fit for the job.” “We’re the new creative directors and we’re sorry to tell you that you won’t be working with us, like, ever.” That’s exactly how they put it.
“Have a seat, Elsa,” I said. “We’ll be with you very soon. Anna, turn around so I can cut your hair.”
Anna squeaked with a giggle and turned around. Elsa glared at me and slowly sat down. When Anna looked in the mirror and smiled at me, I said, “How would you like your hair cut?”
“Just give it a nice trim, I’d say just a few inches,” Anna beamed.
Anna had that perfectly long strawberry blond hair. It was soft and smooth against my fingers. This was my chance. “Ok,” I said. “Just a trim…”
I grabbed the spray bottle and dampened her hair a little, a spritz here, a spritz there. My moment was here: the scissors or the electric razor. I chose my weapon wisely. I grabbed the razor, turned it on, and laughed menacingly. I held her hair up with the left hand, took the electrical razor, and buzzed it through the middle of her head, cutting off her hair right to the scalp.
She screamed. She screamed long and hard. She repeated her screams. She screamed at the mirror. She screamed at me. She screamed at her sister. She touched the remaining pieces of her hair and screamed some more. She screamed as she ran out the door and into the parking lot. Elsa shot straight up and gave me the evil eye.
I laughed and said, in the words of Bugs Bunny, “Mnaaayp… (smacking lips) Next?” I buzzed the razor back on in delight.
But I didn’t do that, really. I’m not that evil. I know that if I did that, my boss would have my job. Then I’d be unemployed again and I’d lose my license.
In short, none of that actually happened. But that doesn’t mean I never thought about it.
“So, how would you like it cut?” I said.