Have you ever wondered what it’s like behind the scenes at your fancy salon? I’m here to tell you it’s not pretty. I’ve been a hairdresser for over ten years at some of the most high-end salons in the world…and what I’ve seen is often shocking. From sexual harassment to physical assault to rampant employee abuse and exploitation. It’s all happening behind the scenes while you’re blissfully relaxing in the chair with your latte. All stories are true. Names and timelines have been changed and shifted slightly to protect the very guilty.

This basement staff room is the true definition of a dungeon. It sucks. Dark, dank, wet (wet! Why the fuck is everything down here wet?!).

Diiiiisgusting.

Last spring, Marcelo stomped on a free-range Staff Room Cockroach and, as a joke, stuck it to the wall next to the light switch, kind of ‘fuck you, Boss- get your shit together and call an exterminator’…and there that cockroach remains, still stuck to the wall, months later.

Try eating your lunch down here. I dare you.

“Get the fuck out of the good chair, mija.” Says Angelina.

Ah, the Good Chair. My precious. There are four chairs in the staff dungeon- and twenty staff. Three of the chairs are completely unacceptable; folding chairs missing legs, smeared with food, etc. Barf! The last one is an old beat-down office chair, also caked with food, but infinitesimally more comfortable.

To put this in perspective; if you saw this chair in a normal room, you would take it outside and burn it. Down here it is the KING OF CHAIRS and I will fight you to the death for it. Loser is relegated to eat his lunch on the floor. With the cockroaches.

“Over my dead body, Angie.” I say.

Sean comes downstairs. Sean is a big Irish guy in his early thirties with red sideburns and a huge frame. With him in the room, we’re all shoved together.

“Out of the chair!” He growls.

“Fuck off! You can sit on my lap.” I grin.

“That chair ain’t big enough for Sean’s dick.” Says Richie.

“You know that Sean’s got a big old dick, right?” Asks Marcelo.

“It’s the only thing you ever talk about, so yes.” I say.

“You ever seen it?”

“No.”

“Show her, Sean!”

“I’m eating.” I say evenly.

“Eat this!” Shouts Sean.

Sean drops his pants. Good God! The rumors are true! THAT is the size of a baby’s leg. Impressive.

…But I’d be lying if I told you this is where I thought my college education would take me…staring at a coworker’s penis on my lunch break.

“I’m trying to EAT my LUNCH!” I scream. “Please put that thing away.”

Marcelo snorts.

“Girl,” he says “you think that’s something? You got to get on the black dick.”

“That’s racist!” I shout.

“No it isn’t.” Richie pipes in, “you just don’t know any better. You ain’t never had none.”

“You don’t know what kind of dick I’ve had! I’ve had plenty!” I say like a uptight prostitute would, I imagine.

“Get this girl some black dick, stat!” Shouts Sean.

“I’m married!” I snap, like a prude.

The staff room erupts into a rousing chant of-

“Black dick! Black dick! Black dick!”

The buzzer buzzes. Thank the sweet Lord, my client is here.

I stomp up the stairs. They are all now screaming-

“Black dick! Black dick! Black dick!”

I reach the top of the stairs. They are clearly audible from the client floor. Everyone is staring in the direction of the door. I primly walk to my client. I’m lucky she’s cool.

“Why are they screaming about ‘Black dick’ down there?” She giggles.

I sigh deeply.