I will never forget freshman year when I called salons on Court Street looking to get my hair straightened. One receptionist answered the phone cheerily, Thank you for calling! How can I help you? I asked for an approximate cost for a wash and then flat iron. She answered, Fourteen dollars. Fourteen dollars? That's it? I asked incredulously, fully expecting to pay thirty-five dollars at least. You mean like run a flat iron through it? she asked, obviously confused. Well
yeah. But it's African-American hair. I answered. She hesitated then said, We don't do that. As if I had asked her to groom my German Shepherd. Not knowing what to say, I mumbled, Oh okay
thanks
bye
before hanging up. I seriously considered calling back and setting an appointment without revealing my race, then just showing up at the salon to see the shock on her face. I decided to save myself the embarrassment of being turned away to my face like some Jim Crow victim. I called other salons and just said in my most black girl voice (because the lack of it had obviously added to the confusion in the first phone call) Do you do black people's hair? I was met with at least five nos and one He'll be here on Monday before just calling my hairdresser in Columbus to schedule an appointment for the following weekend -
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Alissa Griffith
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