Melly just has had a wonderful curly hair and talked me into it.
Last weekend, for the first time in my life, I permed my hair. I went to my hairstylist, and 15 minutes later, my hair is curly.
I thought it is cute. I thought I look cute.
Until the real trouble comes the next days. I don’t realize it takes a lot to touch up curly hair. If I let my hair dry naturally, it will look, well, dry.
On second day of curly hair experience, I woke up earlier in the morning, split my hair into 4 sections, and rolled it. When I went to work, I thought I looked fabulous. Until at night when I had dinner with Rocky, Max, and Dina. Dina had seen my hair earlier, but Rocky and Max hadn’t. After walking around Plaza Indonesia, searching a birthday pressie for Mercy, I couldn’t stand any longer.
“Why did neither of you make any comment about my hair? Didn’t you notice I have a new look?”
Sheepishly, Rocky admitted, that he THOUGHT I was having a bad hair day, and he didn’t dare to say anything!
Last Friday, I woke up even earlier, then split my hair into many sections, then curl them with a curling iron with the help of fixing gel. When it’s done, I thought I looked sexy and radiant!
Then I went to my project. It’s the biggest cosmetics company in the world, which has so many brands under their wings, and they were moving to their new office. Boxes were scattered everywhere. About 20 professional mover guys were busy doing their job. About 10 fit-out workers were standing by, ready to do anything if needed. People looked tense because the show must go on, and how could you identify your exact item in a thousands of boxes?
I was busy moving from one spot to another, checking out and making sure everything run well. Then I saw the President Director of the company looking around. The french guy looked in high spirit, even though he had to leave his office earlier because we were moving him to a temporary office.
I said hi to him, then politely saying, “Sorry for the mess, Sir.”
He studied my face carefully, and happily said, “What, your hair? Your hair looks fine.”
I was stunned. “I mean, this mess, Sir.” I pointed at those scattered boxes in the new office.
“Oh,” he grinned. “You look tired.”
My jaw dropped. I didn’t know what to say.
In the new office I bumped into the Technical Manager. This guy is in the hair business: he’s in charge in academy (a school to get a certificate for their hair expertise, I guess). This guy looked at me, stopped, and said,
“Your hair is curly.”
I nodded, proudly. “Yes.”
“You didn’t have that hair before.”
Confuse, I nodded again. “I just had it permed last weekend.”
I mentioned my salon. Obviously he didn’t recognize it.
He walked away, but after a second he turned around and called me, “If you want to get it fixed, you could go to academy and they would do it for you for free. It’s either the perm or the color of the hair.”
Then he left.
My jaw hung open.
After a couple of minutes, I went out and met this Technical Manager again on the lift lobby. This time he was accompanied by his boss, a british guy. The british guy asked him if he knows me.
“Of course I know her. I met her,” the Technical Manager replied.
“What do you think about her?”
“What? What do I think about her hair?”
Then both of them looked at me, who was still silent, and the Technical Manager reached up and touched my curly hair.
“I offered her to get her hair fixed in the academy.”
“Oh yeah,” the Brits studied me thoroughly. “You think the curl is not good?”
And they went to a deep discussion about my hair condition, in front of elevator. I silently sneaked into a different section of the project, obviously feeling devastated. I mean, what worse can I get, having the president director, the general manager, and the technical manager of the greatest, biggest, cosmetic company which has a strong reputation in hair industry, altogether, given negatives comment about my hair??
Talking about a bad hair day!
A supervisor from data-voice contractor looked at me with concern eyes, “Are you okay ibu? You look tired.”
I sat down in the lobby. Sending text to Mercy. Telling her about my hair situation. A free offer of hair fix, a tired-looking notice by everybody.
“Is my hair really that bad?”
Mercy politely refused to answer and suggested me to grab the chance, it’s free anyway.
It’s 8.00 PM on Friday night. I was sweaty and my hair went crazy. I felt those professional hair people looked at me with pity looks.
I sent text to my hairstylist. I told him about the situation as well.
He went panicked.
It was 9.00 PM.
I have scheduled to meet my hairstylist for emergency remedy.
We’ll see how it goes……………
(Continue to the more embarrassing moments here).