Calamity Jane #9 - Ninth Circle of hell (Treason)

As abruptly as it all began, it ended. ……………..

Sadly not as Hollywood would have intended; with a me walking away, pride in hand, wearing an Armani suit with shoulder pads, four inch Manolo’s, my (fake) hair swishing in the wind (think Working Girl circa 1980s), having eventually tired of the perilous bi-weekly trips to the salon, where I was physically and emotionally endangered.

No... That kind of ending belongs in fairy tales, or the modern day equivalent – Fake DVDs sold by the China man on Brixton Hill... Ironically the catastrophe that was my hairdressing experience was cut short not because I finally saw sense and walked away, but rather, because without warning Keesha, packed up shop and walked away.  In her traditional style, she did so without a second thought for the very people one would assume she would value – her clients!

Subsumed by the torrent of abuse I’d received from friends and family for my addiction fuelled persistent trips back to Keesha. Made worse by the indoctrination of my younger susceptible sister (I got her hooked and like crack it consumed her), I was ill prepared for the act of treason (or sadistic irony) that was to befall me. 

It all happened when........

With no appointment (I had quickly realised appointments were a trite semblance of order that simply did not exist in the mechanics of this salon) I took myself one Saturday morning to Peckham for a steam and a shape up. Prepared as I was for the inevitable wait with book in arm, iPod in ear, packed lunch in bag, I wasn’t surprised to find the shutters down.  I trotted along to God Bless Caribbean restaurant next door to the woman, whose arse was literally the size of a small country (I’m all for back-off but DAMN!) and requested the key to let myself in......

‘Gone you say, gone where?’... ‘I don’t know darling’ was her unconvincing response. In a panic I tried all four of Keesha’s numbers only to find the lines completely dead or diverting to voicemail. With all those numbers, it baffled me that she was so often in contactable. Hmmmm immigration? I pondered.

So, just like that with a simple exchange of stifling pleasantries, I learnt that Keesha had moved on and I was back to square one with mashed up hair, seeking a slamming cheap salon.

You see for all the waiting, the occasional burns, the stolen merchandise, the violence, bordering on child abuse, the salon remained my own private sanctuary. A place where crudeness was the order of the day and time had no common place. It provided me with countless tales that have enriched many a dinner party, and for that I will be eternally grateful.

Thank you for reading my jaunt through the inferno, which although not the requiem of spirituality Dante would have intended it be, turned out to be an entertaining exploration of the soul of the south (London that is).

For now I bid you adieu.

CJ

Blackhairstudio would like to thank Calamity Jane for her fabulous and hilarious contribution to our blog, your Nine Circles of Hell have been nine moments of pleasure for us. We hope you will be back soon!

DQ.