Day Dreaming

Part One

I hear the truck before I see it. The tire catches the puddle that the spring rain has so conveniently left right as I turn, and the spray hits me head on, soaking me.

And here I thought the rain had let up at just the right time and I wouldn't get wet.

I'm walking from the salon I work as a hair and makeup stylist at to the nearest bus stop to get home. I would much rather take my car, but it broke down two weeks ago and I haven't had many clients, so I haven't had enough money to fix it. I've been relying on the bus, my roommates, Claire and Sophia, and occasionally my boyfriend Tyler, to get me everywhere I need to go. Luckily, LA has decent public transportation.

I wipe the dirty water from my face with my sleeve, but pause mid-swipe. Groaning, I pull my arm back and inspect my sleeve. As suspected, the once white material of my hoodie is now stained with black and tan streaks from my running makeup. I sigh. After the terrible day I've had, I can't even bring myself to care.

My day started with my alarm not going off and me showing up to work late, resulting in not having time to prepare for my first client. That was followed up with my boss Vanessa, an older woman with perfect makeup and blue rimmed glasses, taking me into her office to talk to me about my waning clientele. As if I didn't already know and wasn't worried about it enough. I've been uploading videos and pictures of my work on my YouTube channel as well as my social medias since I was in beauty school five years ago. Since then I've gained a decent following, but apparently none of my followers live in the LA area because I have hardly any regular clients.

That was followed by getting yelled at by a middle aged woman for not giving her the hairstyle she wanted.

"I want highlights." ignoring my friendly greeting, she sat in my chair.

"Great!" I replied, then dove into asking for details. Her replies were vague at best, and she didn't have any photos of what she wanted.

"Would you like me to search up some pictures before we get started, just so I know we're on the same page?" I offered.

She rolled her eyes. "I already told you what I wanted. I want highlights. You do know how to do your job, don't you?"

"Of course!" I said brightly, considering accidentally-on purpose burning all her hair off with bleach. "I'll get started now."

Against my wishes, I did not burn her hair and the outcome was quite satisfactory, if I do say so myself. But it turned out, she did not want highlights.

"What is this?" she demanded, inspecting herself in the mirror angrily.

"Highlights..." I replied.

"These are NOT highlights! You've ruined my hair!" At that point, she pulled out her phone and furiously started typing. A moment later, she shoved it in my face. She had pulled up the facebook profile of a woman about the same age as herself with a balayage. "This is what I wanted!"

She demanded to see my boss, who mostly took my side, since I hadn't actually ruined her hair. Instead, she offered to not charge her for this style and set up an appointment with a different stylist to "fix" it at a discounted price.

As a cosmetologist who works on commission, that was a waste of time when I could've actually been making money so I could fix my damn car.

I spent the rest of the day tiptoeing around Vanessa and doing my clients' hair and makeup until it was finally time to go home.

Since the rain stopped and I got to go home, I thought my day was finally looking up, but that truck and stupid puddle ruined that fantasy.

I walk the rest of the way to the bus stop and step under the awning, hoping it will protect me from any more misfortune.