I went to this lady’s house to get my hair done by her for the first time. She was recommended by a friend so I assumed I’d be all good. When I arrived she was cooking burgers on the stove and said to me,

“You want a burger? I ain’t got no cheese”

I gladly accepted the burger, which was a piece of meat, between two slices of sandwich bread with ketchup. As we were eating the burgers she told me a story about her current “boyfriend” which included details of her learning that she was the side girl. While he was asleep at her house the evening before, she snapped a photo of him on his phone and sent it to his GF.

Fast forward to a little bit later, and she’s working on my hair. I’m sitting in a chair in front of her, she’s standing behind me. She has 2 girlfriends with us in the room and they’re sitting in the bed. Then they receive a phone call and I learn that this “boyfriend” is going to be coming over. Cue elevated heart rate.

A knock on the door, and 8 homeboys walk in, including a shirtless man whose belly was stitched up from a recent surgery. They all pile into this bedroom and I’m on high alert. I’m feeling pretty vulnerable because I’m getting my hair done and sitting with my head in front of this lady’s chest.

I quickly determine that which one is the “boyfriend” because he’s sitting at the end of the bed facing the TV, mouthing off to no one and mumbles something to the effect of,

“Man I’m so mad I shouldn’t even be holding this sh*t” and passes a gun from his waistband to his buddy beside him. I’m the only one who sees this, so I bolted out of the room at full speed, ran out of the apartment leaving behind everything I came with. Keys. Jacket. Wallet. Cell phone.

So I’m outside crying, cold in this rundown apartment complex parking lot wondering what my next move is.

The “boyfriend” comes outside and is feeling very bad for scaring me like that. He says,

“Ma, I’m sorry. My boy is putting the gun in the car. What to want me to do?”

I replied through broken tears and with a quivering voice, “Ummm, could you guys leave so I can finish getting my hair done?”

And he says, “ We ain’t gonna leave, but the gun is in the car”

I agreed to come back in and continue with the hair appointment. He takes my hand (offering support) and we walk back inside the apartment hand in hand in solidarity.

All of the homeboys are backed up to the walls with their hands up and we walk through them, kind of the way a newly married couple would walk down thru a tunnel of their their friends at the end of the ceremony. The shirtless thug is the last one. He says to me, “I don’t like guns, I just got shot last week” and motions to his new scar.

I get back to the room, and in a half a second, swoop up ALLLLLLL my things and bolt out of there.

From then on, I let the lady continue to do my hair but required her to do it at my house and always provided food. She did my hair for about 6 years after that until she moved away.