Occupational hazards

Though you may think of hair dressing as a safe and happy job, a place where no one gets hurt and nothing goes wrong, other than having a bunch of ditzy woman all in one place, you are mistaken. One of the most dangerous things about having all us ditzy women together is that in and of itself, we are all in one place, together.

The list of dangers starts quite mildly

!:hair slivers, these do exist and have at times been removed by a doctor when they have gone so far in that the regular pare of tweezers will no longer get at them. These, I might add, are more painful then the floor through the sock sliver

It then works its way up to blood

2: dry and cracking skin, will dry so badly that I have watched in a half hour period my hands go from slightly pink to a pail deathly color, crack up and bleed. This is not an over dramatisation

3: large gashes all along the index and middle fingers of your left hand. These are kept at a minimum by the fact that it is usually only these two fingers that are endangered but I have heard stories of toes and feet being attacked by an overly zealous pair of scissors.

Now the dangers for ones life come into play.

4: electric fires and shock, This is rare but is partial to the bunch of ditzy women. The story goes as follows.

Two women had a flat iron that they shared between the two of them. (for those who are not in the world of hair this is similar to a curling iron but is flat so as to make the hair straight and not curled) now this flat iron did not have a regular place to be contained but was laid on the counter of one or the others stations. This had finely become too much for the both of them, for it kept finding its way to the floor in some clatter or crash. It was then discussed between all the ditzy hairdressers in the salon, what to do with this wonderful but cumbersome piece of equipment. It was decided it shall hang from the stations on a newly installed hook. It hung very nicely just in front of all the plug-ins. Cord after cord came swinging out around this lovely, hot flat iron. One was to the curling iron another to a blow dryer. It was the blow dryer whose fiat was doomed on that fatal day. The jaws of that nasty flat iron enticed the cord between their heat. Holding on tightly the cord sang the blues as the iron slowly but surely ate its favored meal, rubber and wire. The two wires connected and in a flash of anger the cord jumped back from the iron. The sparks flew and the snapping of teeth was heard. All we, as the ditzy hair stylist of that day knew was that things were not at right between the two of them. The flat iron was scarred for life (two nasty grooves in the metal plates) and the blow dryer had lost its will to live (the cord was cut [not cleanly] in two). We decided to separate them for life. Their discipline, To never serve their duty in a salon again.