Henhouses

HENHOUSES

By Missy

 I have spent my fair share of time in many salons; and in many career positions there.

But, no matter where the salon or what position I am working, one thing is very similar- the henhouse.

The “hen house” is what I call the kitchen area of a salon.

Because behind those classy kitchen doors, is a whole secret world- where not only color gets mixed- but a whole lot of talking does too!

When the hen cackling is through, at least one hen will have put another hen on the chopping block. I can’t tell you how many times I have walked into a hen-house conversation where every whisper got silent and was replaced with a simultaneous assortment of fake smiles.

I would feel the air so thick I could see my name, or someone else’s, in a big cloud of thick, gossipy fog. Then for some reason, I would find myself nervous and awkwardly skidding out.

I would spend the remainder of the day contemplating if I was the one on the chopping block- and WHY? Those moments had the power to ruin my day, and fuel my inner hen.

Then there were times when some of my co-workers would graciously invite me in and begin a conversation about someone. It was like being asked to sit at the “cool table” in school.

It was very hard to resist the urge to be involved and before I knew it, I became a bloody butcher in the slaughter house. I was sharpening my knife sacrificing a co-hen for the block. All because I felt a sense of camaraderie.  My participation was also a personal insurance that if I were the butcher- I couldn’t be the hen.

For THAT day, anyhow…

In most creative fields I have worked in, from the Nashville music circuit to the posh Memphis salons, and all types of professional creative circles- there is such a raunchy cutthroat spirit at times. Not just women, A LOT of men as well! I have seen individuals who claim to even be “best” friends aggressively scheme and plot behind one another’s backs like highly trained double agents!  I, myself, have been lied to, misrepresented, stolen from, manipulated, and downright ran out of a job and career before.

 All of this from” friends” who were so gifted at self-denial, their vicious duplicity allowed them little to no remorse. Confronting them would be of no service as they would have a quick justification and reason for any behavior that was scandalous. Of course, it was always someone else’s fault or a “misunderstanding”.

Then, I met a lady that would impact my life more than she or I would ever know.

She had been in the hair business a very long time and hired me to work in her very successful and celebrated salon in a prominent position. She was smart, savvy, funny, confident and harshly frank. Initially meeting her, I interpreted her direct and plain-spoken demeanor as “mean”.

I considered her forthrightness to be offensive. I was not accustomed to someone who did not assume the sugar- sweet pretense that seemed to be a requirement for the initial stages of introduction. It almost felt “un-southern” and well, RUDE. I was intimidated.

I would confuse her assertiveness as aggressiveness towards me. This would cause me to put up my defenses. Inevitably, that would soon lend itself to a passive-aggressive melt down. Unfortunately, these were the melt downs that always showcased my white trash tendency far too well.  Soon enough, the moment came.

After allowing various co-workers in the “hen house” fuel my hostility by telling me stories of her callous behavior, and even a few fabricated stories of things she had said about me, I was ready to tell her off! Being a self-appointed ambassador for bitches, I was ready to “straighten her out”.

I proceeded to her office and began letting her know what a heinous person she was and how I was not going to put up with it any longer!

 Startled by my comments, she displayed a visible motion of being taken back by my slander. However, she did not respond with name calling in return or to the invitation I extended of handling this “in the yard”. Instead, she “strongly suggested I go home and assess myself and return tomorrow with an apology”.  In my last act of classy unravel, I extended to her a well-polished middle finger and exited her office.

I was a little shocked. That did not go as I had planned.

I was NOT expecting her to be rational! I thought for sure we would yell, curse and engage in a battle of “just who is the biggest bitch”…!

But, noooo she had to make me look like a damn idiot!

Yeah, that stung a bit.

I drove home feeling like the biggest redneck straight off of the Mason-Dixon line.

 I might as well had left that salon parking lot on a tractor, with a “my kid beat up your honor roll student” bumper sticker on the back. I was so humiliated.

The saddest part was, in my reflections later, she was right! I was mad for no good reason. She had not treated me badly; she just was not- FAKE- or Phony.

Hmmm….that was exactly it!  Suddenly, I felt so aware, like scales had dropped off of my fake eyelashes.

The next day at work, I humbly apologized and then told her thank you for the revelation she unknowingly gave me. I told her every single thing I thought and felt. I even told her about the henhouse. I imagined she would be stunned and appalled by the hens. But, she wasn’t. She didn’t even seem surprised.

Instead, she informed me how very aware of the henhouse she was.

But, I finally understood her when she said; the entire world was a henhouse and only the ROOSTERS survive.  It was clear. I was only used to hens. She was so right. In that moment, I realized I genuinely liked her and truly respected her as well.

 After the longest, best conversation of my life we hugged and I got ready to get to work. As I was leaving her office she said, “By the way, I actually am from a small town and was raised by brothers”. She began to take off her diamond encrusted Rolex, winked and continued, “I still can rumble if need be.”  She winked and we both laughed.

We became the best of friends. Her honesty was contagious. There is just something about an HONEST person that enables you to want to be honest as well. I mean the kind of honesty that sometimes is so REAL and uncontained that it makes you a little nervous- but FREE. I had been fake most of my life.

Never one to “hurt someone’s feelings” so I would just say what needed to be said BEHIND their back. Somehow, that felt more, polite and well… Christian.

That was more safe and comfortable. But, I realized it actually wasn’t SAFE and definitely not comfortable after all. I did not want to be a hen any longer.

She eventually got out of the hair business, as did I, but we remained friends.

Sometimes she will call me after seeing a picture on Facebook or after watching one of my shows and will remind me that I have gained weight, my hair color is dull, or my absolute favorite- “I remember you when you were just a little white trash over-processed Blonde and full of so much crap….”

I just laugh and love her for that. Most of the time, she usually is right.

 *Note: After years of her powerful suggestion, I am a brunette now, but not AS full of crap*

I know that her honesty is rare and it is real.

I have tried to emulate her over the years. I refuse to sit in a hen house putting ANYONE on the chopping block. I take pride that if anyone is saying I am less than honest, it is they who are being less than honest. Genuine people are becoming harder and harder to find. I am thankful for knowing her and allowing her influence to inspire me. Hopefully, I am following her example and setting a standard others find refreshing and follow suit.

It still is competitive in my professional world- and sometimes even my personal world.

I still see a lot of my colleagues and “friends” blatantly go behind their “friends” backs as well as my own. I still experience fake-ness on a daily basis and often by the very people who claim to be real. They are still in self-denial, sitting around laying eggs.

I still stumble upon a “hen house” in various places around town. Sometimes, sadly, even at CHURCH.

But, I won’t be around when the feathers go flying.

I know who I am.

But, more importantly- I know WHAT I am.

….Cock-a-doodle-do.

-Missy

Xoxo