Hair Situation Update

As you may recall from a previous post, the first week I was here in NJ I went to the B&B Color Studio. You may also recall that this was not the best of experiences for me and my hair. B&B (Butchering and Blunders) did just that. They butchered my layers and blundered my color. My hair was supposed to be colored with semi permanent color that would make my tresses look naturally full of gloss and shine. Instead I got PERMANENT color, that was kept on too long. Instead of gloss, I got glow - my hair radiated with a purpley, reddish hue. Yikes. I tried to make myself believe that no one would notice and that my hair obsession was all in my head, not on my head. But, when even my husband made a few comments about the color (I could wear and Easter bunny suit for a week before he would notice), I knew something had to be done. I tried to hold out, but after only a month I had a very bad root situation going on.

So, I took action.

On a dark and stormy night (tee hee, it was only rain, not like in Boston) I drove to the Princeton Shopping Center (where McCaffery's Supermarket is) for my 5:45 appointment with LA at Metropolis Salon. LA's real name is Laurie Ann but there are two other Lauries in the salon, so she goes by LA. Metropolis is a metropolis of a hair salon. There must be chairs for 25 stylists. When you come into the salon you check in at the front desk, where there are 6 different "windows", like at a bank. All of the women at the desk wear black and have their hair pulled back, a la Robert Palmer video. You check in with them, they write out a ticket, give it to another woman dressed in black and she directs you where to go.

I was first directed to change into a smock in the dressing area. So, like in Boston, I took off my top and put on the smock. When I came out, I realized most of the patrons had their shirts on underneath the smocks (so why the dressing room?). At first I felt self conscious and thought I had made a terrible Princeton Salon faux pas. But then I comforted myself with the rationalization that these women were too uptight to remove their shirts in a private dressing room and appear in public with bear arms. That made me feel sexy and risque. So, I decided that I was going to enjoy this experience if it killed me.

My personal hair salon escort led me over to the coloring chairs (there must have be 15) and then LA came over. She was dressed in black but had a bright green scarf around her neck. She sat down next to me and really listened as I explained my hair issues. We decided to "low light" my hair with my natural color and then put on a gloss to make my hair sparkle and shine. After we agreed, she then repeated our understanding, so there would be no confusion. My heart filled with appreciation.

When it was time to wash the color out, a young woman named Natalie came over, introduced herself and took me over to the bank of sinks. As she began to wash my hair another hair washer came over and starting asking Natalie if she had any questions. I figured out that it was Nat's first day on the job, so I asked her how it was going. She loved it, it was fun and "way more exciting" than her previous salon job. I confessed that it was my first day at the salon as well and we had a very sincere bonding moment.

As I sat up to have her comb out my hair, another woman walked past us. Natalie asked her salon mentor who that was. "Well, her salon name is Madison, but her real name is Jennifer."

Salon name?!? I cracked up and asked for further explanation. It turns out that the salon is so big that the manager doesn't like people to have duplicate names. Apparently the clients get confused. This was hilarious. It felt like we were in a junior high Spanish class and Gretchen picks out Marguerite as her Spanish name. Whenever someone walked past us, Natalie and I would giggle and ask our mentor, what her salon name was.

Finally, it was time for LA to trim my tresses. Again, she listened carefully, repeated what I had said - AND - get this - she held out a length of my hair and asked me if that was too much to cut off. Damn straight it was. So, she revised her cutting plan and went to work. When she was done, she asked me how I wanted it dried. "Do you want me to blow it out straight?" Of course, I told her, but it was late and raining, and I didn't want to take up all of her time. "Don't be silly, you spent all this time and money here tonight, you deserve to have your hair just as you want it."
My heart melted.

After blow drying it straight (but not poker straight, thank you) she went to work trimming the edges (just like dear Umberto, sigh). I asked her what shampoo I should use, and if the new "shampoos for straight hair/shampoos for curly hair " really worked. She scoffed. Of course they don't. Then she bent down and whispered close to my ear "Don't by your products here, they're way overpriced. Go to Ulta down Route 1". Then, she spun me around and Voila! My old hair color was back, but only more shiny. My cut was fancier, actually a style. Miraculously, it's no shorter, but there are more layers, so it's not as boring. Some might even call it stylish.

Once again, I paid a small fortune. But this time, I can honestly say, it was worth it. Yeay for Metropolis Salon and LA!! Not that I believe happiness depends on how you look, but it sure is a lot easier to be happier when you love your hair.

Happy Hair Styling to You and Yours.

The Quest Continues (Part 2 of the Drivers License Saga)

Finally, it was our turn for our pictures to be snapped (twice for me, I'm a bit vain), to chitchat with the friendly dressed, smiling, baby holding agents and to pay $26 dollars each (cash or check only). Then, we had to wait a few minutes for our 26 hologrammed, maximum security licenses to be printed and laminated. Then, voila, we were fully licensed to drive in the state of New Jersey.

By that point, the lines to register your car were down to only 5 people. So, Nick jumped in line and I sat in one of the gray nubby chairs, watching my fellow New Jerseyites' jaws drop when they walked in the front door. But, I also watched people calmly waiting; the very accommodating receptionist doling out forms and information; and many MVC agents spending so much time being courteous to their customers, that not much work was getting done.

At last, after 2 hours and 35 minutes, we walked out of the MVC station. As we were driving away, we saw that the "Current Wait Time" sign now read "97 minutes" for those waiting for car inspections.The Official Car Inspectors were busy chatting up people whose cars were already in the inspection bays. New Jersey might not be efficient, but at least the folks here are friendly.

The Quest for a New Drivers License Part 1

On Thursday, December 30th at 11am, Nick and I decided that it would be a good time to get our new (jersey) drivers licenses and car registrations. We found out from the NJ Motor Vehicle Comission website that the state requires that all cars registered in New Jersey are inspected, but that the inspection was free. This made us happy.

The rest of the day, made us very unhappy.

Nick took charge of this project and found a "full service" location about 15 minutes north of our house. The plan was, get our new licenses and then get our cars inspected. As we were leaving, Nick made sure I had my MA drivers license, my passport, social security card, and our wedding license. In addition, Nick had his passport and birth certificate. In the name of national security, New Jersey has instituted a new system of identifcation and Nick wanted to make sure that we were fully prepared.

So, we set off, and found the MVC garage. We knew we were in the right place because of the sign that said " Current Wait Time" and a bright yellow clock that read "15 minutes". Yeay for New Jersey! 15 minutes wait time. We were thrilled with Garden State Efficiency. But then, after circling and circling the dusty yellow alumium garage building, Nick finally pulled over and I ran into one of the 8 bays to find out where, at this full service location, we could get our new licenses. An Offical New Jersey Inspector lifted his head out from under the hood of a Chevy Nova and kindly informed me that this was a full service inspection site, but that to get our drivers licenses, we needed to go to the MVC location on Route 1 - which was about 25 minutes away from where we currently stood. I got back into the car, eplained the situation to Nick, and after a few key explitives, we were on our way, again.

We finally found the next MVC compound because it, too, had a big sign out front that said "Current Wait Time". However, this sign read "85 minutes." We thankfully realized that it was 85 minutes to get your car inspected. It couldn't possibly take 85 minutes to get our drivers licenses. We were right, it took us 155 minutes.

We entered the very mauve building and the place was packed. Lines snaked all over the room. Directly in front of us there were 6 different straight lines, to our left there was a mishmash of people. Some in line, some in a crowd holding laminated blue cards with handwritten numbers on them. There were vending machines and in the center of the room, 6 rows of office chairs covered in gray, nubby material. A few dejected people sat, slumped down, in the chairs.

We were greeted by a friendly middle aged woman who directed us to the receptionist to our right. We walked up to the large mauve desk and the very friendly young man in jeans and a white sweater greeted us and asked what we were here for. We explained: New Licenses, New Registrations. He smiled, handed us 8 different pieces of paper, in various sizes, and rattled off a list of instructions. Our first step was to fill out the white and beige cards. Then, we were to go straight up to the table on the far left (where lots of beraggled people were waiting with those blue numbers), cut right in front of all of them, and talk to the women at that table. We completed the forms and, as we were told, cut right in front of everyone and gave our cards to the 2 women behind the mauve table.

They looked at our forms and then asked for our proofs of identification. We pulled everything out - the passports, wedding license, social security cards, and Nick's birth certificate. They looked at everything, made lots of check marks on our beige card, and then, one of the women looked up and asked "Do you have proof of your current address?" Our hearts sunk. We hadn't thought of that. Just then, I remembered that I had a copy of our lease in my purse. I was carrying it around in the hopes of one day, figuring out where our local library was and signing up for a card. Thank God, I hadn't found the library yet.

With our beige cards stamped and approved, the women pointed us to the line behind them. It turns out that we needed to get a permit before we could get our licenses. A picture permit. So, we waited in a line with about 5 people in front of us. Right before us a woman with a baby waited for her picture to be taken. When it was her turn, she didn't know what to do with her child. A womanwith dreadlocks and wearing a shimmery black blouse was behind the (yes, it's true) mauve counter offered to hold baby while she took the picture of the woman. There was lots of laughing and kibbitzing. While the lines were long, at least everyone was friendly. It was finally our turns. Handing over our beige cards, $10 (cash or check only), and our proofs of identification (again) - we were finally able to get our new permits. Then, we were directed to go OUT of the building we were in, make a left at the front door, and into the next building.

There was a loud hum in the first building. People were talking, MVC agents were shouting out names and directions, a few kids were crying. When we walked into the next building, there was silence. Just the buzz of flourensent lights. No one was in line at the counter. A few poor schlubs were struggling through the computerized knowledge test, but we were able to step right up to the counter. A man who must be a captain or general of the MVC because he was in full MVC uniform, greeted us sternly and asked for my beige card and, surprise, my proofs of identifcation. He scoured my identifications. A full 5 minutes must have gone by when he looked up and barked "Why is your middle intitial E on your passport, but G on everything else?" Startled, I blathered on that we had gotten married and I changed my middle name from Elizabeth to my maiden name, Gross, and changed my last name to Pollara. I was sure he was going to send me to MVC jail if I didn't answer correctly. He made more check marks on my beige card, had me take an eye test, scribbled more on the card, and just as Nick stepped up to the counter, decided it was time to take his lunch break. Another MVC agent came over, this time younger and not full dress uniform, to help Nick. Well, to try and help Nick. His computer froze and he called over his supervisor, a big haired woman eating a Burger King sandwich. She unplugged and replugged the computer, turned it back on, and voila - we were back in business. While we were waiting, another woman walked into the quiet room and was being helped at the counter. She and the agent began talking about how long the lines were in the noisy mauve room. Both she and the agent agreed that the new MVC reforms (click on This Is Not Your Old MVC) while not helping the lines very much, sure made the MVC a much friendlier place.

Finally, Nick and I were stamped, signed, and permitted to go back into the noisy room to get our drivers licenses. We were greeted again by the friendly woman, sent to the same receptionist, but this time we were given a blue number. So we had to wait the crowd of grumpy blue card holders who were waiting to see the 2 women behind the mauve table. Nick decided to chance it and wait in the car registration line, while waiting for our blue number to be called. The guy behind us was bitching and moaning about what a pain in the ass this was, and in Kentucky, the state he had just moved from, all you had to do was put an X on the paper and they gave you a license. New Jersey, he proclaimed again and again, was a Communist State. The woman in front of us turned around, red faced, and said "In Communist States they shoot you. They shot my grandparents. This is New Jersey, they do not shoot you." With that, Nick decided to step out of that line, and wait in the glom of blue card people for our number to be called. It was called. We had to show the same two woman the same pieces of identification that we had already showed them, get our white card signed off on, and then, wait in the long snakey line for our photo to be taken again.

By the time we got in the snakey line, we went across the front door. So when people walked in, we became the greeters. We directed people to the receptionist, the bathroom, and to the quiet room. And, we chatted up the folks around us. People who all said the same thing: Since the reforms, the MVC lines were still awful, but gosh, everyone was sure friendly. I began to imagine the agenda for the staff training of the MVC agents: Session 1 Smiling; Session 2 Small Talk; Session 3 Friendly Clothes vs Uniforms.


See Part 2 for the rest of the adventure.