Walking to a hair dresser appointment the other day, I was feeling so excited that I was FINALLY going to get something done about the rats nest of mousy hair that lay upon my crown. When lo and behold, my excitement turned to shock when I saw something peculiar on the sidewalk in front of me... what was that? Oh dear me, it's a dark brown braided hair extension weave... but, on the sidewalk? Now, I'm certainly not suggesting I know anything about hair weaves, but it's my understanding these things don't just fly out of ones hair wisp-ily as if a slight wind - from oh, say a bus - passing by could take it away. These things are actually fused and attached to the real hair pieces on your head - which can take multiple hours to do this attaching. I found myself looking around desperately, as if I had found a condom lying on the sidewalk or something and I wanted to see if anyone else had also laid witness to this disgusting faux-pas. Because, I mean... ewwwww. Surely in this business conservative ocean of hurried black, gray, and beige SOMEONE would notice this disgrace. Not even so much as sneer at this lone hair weave. Nope, just me.
So, this lone hair weave strand was laying harmlessly on the side walk... and during my desperate search for someone else to chime in saying, "How disgusting!" I look up and see that it's directly in front of a gentleman's club. I'm thinking, ahhhh - so that's the missing clue. It's mere proximity to a place such as this opens up the story of this simple, lonely, innocent hair weave to a whole new slew of deviant behavior behind it's placement here on the sidewalk.
Who did it belong to?
Was her name Starfish? Or, Constellation? Baby girl?
Now the web spinning starts...
My explanation of this back story came very quickly, and basically took the rest of the walk to the hairdressers to devise.
Her name was obviously Luscious, and she was a visitor to this club from Las Vegas. During her hiatus from her normal venue, she was making new friends and also finding a new love interest in the bouncer. Luscious must have been hooking up with this bouncer secretly for months, and in doing so totally stabbing her new dancer friend Baby-gurl in the back because the bouncer was HER boyfriend. This is all calculated from the positioning of the hair weave on the sidewalk and the distance of the weave from the front door of the club. When Baby-gurl got tired of her boyfriend making glances at Luscious on stage and confronted him about it, an argument ensued. The argument happened last night just after her shift was over. Baby-gurl (armed with a few dancer friends also off shift, and some random guy she just met on the sidewalk) came out with fists flying as she screamed expletives at Tony the bouncer. News travels fast, and inside the club was buzzing about a fight going on just outside the door and that Luscious was mentioned in the screaming. Within 5 minutes the entire staff was outside watching the incident as it unfolded... Luscious leisurely following behind the stampede, top lip in a curl of disgust. Sticking her acrylic nail in her tooth and looking disapprovingly at Baby-gurl, she said, "What's all this sh** gurl? Why you up in his face like that??, talking all smack 'bout me?" Luscious decided to ignore the fact that Baby-gurl was known for her random acts of violence, and with a tattoo on Baby-gurl's back saying, "Yeah, I'm that bitch." she knew the sh** was about to go down. Baby-gurl lunged at Luscious, and in a plethora of cat fight sounds - the hair pulling and scratching commenced. It was like being a witness to a really bad alley cat fight, but only the cats are on steroids and talking in strange tongues.
After twenty minutes passed, Luscious - finally out of exasperation - retracted from the fight with six broken nails, fuchsia lipstick smeared across her face, tousled hair, a torn bra shirt and one pulled hair weave strand. Needless to say, Tony didn't follow her and the club owner banned her from ever working there again. Looking like disheveled trash, Luscious picked up her trick bag, shouted "F*** all you bitches!" and proceeded on the lonely walk of shame to her dark blue metallic hoopty. The whole club, and several bystanders on the street, stopped and watched as her Nevada license plate drove out of sight.
Without a doubt, that's how the events unfolded that night.
It's either that or someone's expensive hair weave got caught on their Prada laptop messenger bag on the way to that super important interview. Feeling like they didn't want to make a bad impression, they didn't waste time looking for it, and continued in pain en route to their destination.
It's abundantly clear to me now that I seriously need to stop watching Oxygen's "Snapped", and "Bad Girls".
WOW. I feel strangely compelled to shower after reading this post.