It was always hot in New Orleans. My hair is ridiculously thick, but between the hard water and the humidity, it was nearly impossible to straighten my hair. I use to hold out for a relaxer until I went back up North to deal with it.
However, between writing my thesis and traveling, I'd neglected the crown. I asked my neighbor's housekeeper(the only other black person in the building...lol) if she knew any spots that I could go to get my hair done. She mentioned this place over in the Seventh Ward.
I went to the hair salon on St. Bernard Avenue. I walked in, and my senses were assaulted with every form of dye, burning, and straightening process within reach. Yes, the personification of a miasma of misery. I sat in a chair, and the hairdresser looked at me and said, "Well, I'll be damned, you sho' have a lotta hair. What am I going to do with all of this?!"
Creole translation "Tifi, can't cha don't cha hair" or little girl, there's nothing I can do with your hair.
Fiddle faddle, deal with it dammit. :)
After pummeling my scalp with a comb, and assaulting it with lye, I entered the depths of hell. My scalp was on fire, and the Evil Hairdresser seemed to enjoy torturing me. An hour later, I felt like I had exited the gates, to emerge in enough time to thank God that I had survived. I looked like some aged church lady, with some flat hat hair looking mess, as styling was obviously not the Evil Hairdresser's forte. I was just happy to leave.
An outgrowth of the hurricane, in fact is that the place is no longer in business. Yes, I checked when I went back to New Orleans last year...lol. I guess she's assaulting people by the mile in Mississippi or Texas nowadays. Good grief.
