No Time to Trim the Mullet

Melbourne hairdresserWhen did life get so unreasonably busy? I’ve been trying to get to the newsagent to fill up my electricity meter for the last week, and there’s just…no time. Simple little thing, and I can’t even do that much. Kelsie’s rabbits need feeding, with is a train and a bus trip away, and I never should’ve said that I can do it. Work needs me to go all the way into the CBD to get flowers for Daria’s leaving party, which took up most of my time after work because the trains were playing up, and then it was my nephew’s play, so…

Okay, so that’s where all the time went. On things I have no control over, cool, great. Guess I shouldn’t feel bad, but it’s hard not to when I see the dishes piling up, or I look at myself in the mirror and realise that I’m skirting the edge of the mullet territory. Thing is, when I was in the CBD picking up the flowers, I saw a hair stylist at David Jones and I thought… ‘fifteen minutes. I’m a guy, my hair doesn’t take that long.’

And then the choking anxiety over not being able to get stuff done sets in, so I just kept walking. Funny how that works. Even the little things just seem to be out of your reach when there’s so much to do already. Fortunately I have a free day on Saturday…besides the rabbits, of course. I shouldn’t pin too much on it though; that’s setting myself up for failure. I’m getting myself hair salon booking, I know that much. So tired of wrangling these unruly locks into something appropriate for work. Chop ‘em all off, weather be damned. Maybe I actually will go into the CBD, see if I can find a good hairdresser. David Jones has a salon that seems to be pretty decent. I’ll spend the rest of the day drinking bubble tea and planning my schedule a bit better. That’s probably all it is, to be honest. I just don’t make enough solid plans.


Your Little Local Salon

St-James' hairdresserLife in the digital age SUCKS. I wasn’t even born in the seventies- in fact, I barely made it into the nineties- but I’m pretty sure I know what things were like back then, and they were definitely better, probably. Things were probably even better in the fifties, to be honest. Those two big wars were out of the way, everyone had to be nice to each other and you could go along to the drugstore and buy lemonade and macaroons for a dime. Or…whatever it was in Australia at the time. Beer and lamingtons?

What I really miss, despite never actually experiencing it myself, are the little communities and loyalty to certain places. Like, nowadays you just get on your phone and look up where’s got good reviews, or wherever’s closest. Need a hairdresser? There’s nothing that brings you back to the same place, if something else is more convenient. If there’s a hairdresser on St James’ Place that gave you a great cut the last time you went…well, that itself might bring you back. But it won’t be with a sense of community loyalty. You won’t go back because you know the lady who owns it, and her name is Maria, and you want to support her because she’s trying to feed four kids, and it’s all beneficial anyway because Maria will then visit your family’s greengrocer and buy her vegetables thus continuing to wonderful, economic circle of community life.

No, you just go there. Because maybe the internet said it was good. You don’t care about the struggles of that hairdresser, not at all. It’s all about you, isn’t it? What can I get for ME? Well, if there were a way to bring back that community mentality, you better believe that I’d give it a go. Things were great in the seventies and sixties, and probably fifties, you know? Like, even the hair salons based in the Melbourne CBD had their own special place in the community, instead of being treated like walk-in service providers. People were just nicer. I know that for sure, even though I never lived then. You can just tell.