Dispensary

It is a sunny day at Pulse Beauty Academy.

I am on towel duty, which I like because I don't have the pressure of making one person's hair perfect, yet I still am doing something productive.

The room with the washing machine, dryer, extra shampoos, perm rods, and other supplies is a little haven amidst the hubbub of the bustling salon.

Student stylists can come in to "get another towel" and complain to me or whoever else is in there about their unreasonable client.

Or their annoying classmate.

Or the unrelenting pressure on the floor to sell, sell, sell.

Or even their life in general.

Many times I find myself entering the "dispensary" to find what I call a "gossip circle" gathered in the back where clients can't see. By chance, a group of students end up in this magic room who all trust each other and share the same opinion, and they talk about it.

Never mind that the door to the dispensary is supposed to remain closed and whoever is on towel duty is to be the only person inside, dutifully dispensing shampoos, towels, and cotton to others, and cleaning and drying dirty utensils.

That rule is only there so teachers can say that they say it if they are ever under some sort of scrutiny. Disobedience is not of top concern.

But it is a sunny day. I blew dry a girl's hair in a seat I chose just so she would be in the sunshine and then put her hair over her shoulders and then said something like, "there, now you have flowy princess hair." She didn't say anything but I think she liked it.

I also attempted my first-french-braid-ever-on-a human-being on her, and it was mediocre, which is better than bad.

I have a haircut in an hour. The sun will still shine when it is complete.