by Karyn Bosnak
I’m not an athletic person. I never have been. I’m not one of those people who gets off on going to the gym. I’m extremely uncoordinated. But this sounded so cool! For sure if I belonged here I’d go to these classes! I’d be so fit.
“How much is it?” I asked.
“Well, today is your lucky day. Since it’s a holiday, we waive the membership initiation fee of two hundred fifty dollars, so it’s free to join. Then there is a monthly membership charge of eighty dollars.”
Free! It’s my lucky day! I wasn’t really financially in the position to join, but if I didn’t join today, I’d have to pay $250 when I did. That’s like four months of membership dues. So, I looked at it this way: I could join today for free and start paying $80 a month. Or (in order to break even on the same deal) I could wait until November to join, and then pay the $250 and $80 a month. Either way I’d come out the same.
November was a long way away, and October can be cold. And if it was, was I still going to want to run outside? Probably not. And if I am in a serious workout mode by then, do I want to jeopardize it, when in the end I’m going to come out the same financially anyway? Heavens no!
So I opted to join Crunch today! I sat down with Robert, gave him my Amex for my first month’s dues, and told him to charge it monthly for the dues thereafter. While he filled out all the paperwork, I looked up at the wall and read the Crunch Philosophy that was painted there.
We at CRUNCH warmly welcome people from all walks of life regardless of shape, size, sex or ability.
People don’t have to feel flawless to feel at home at CRUNCH. We don’t care if you’re 18 or 80…fat or thin…short or tall…muscular or mushy…blond or bald…or anywhere in between.
CRUNCH is not competitive, it is non-judgmental, it is not elitist, it does not represent a kind of person.
CRUNCH is a gym; a movement which is growing as we continue to perfect our ability to create an environment where our members don’t feel self-conscious, and don’t worry about what others think.
At the heart of the CRUNCH core, stands a tremendously experienced and energetic staff dedicated to creating an environment where everyone feels accepted…A truly unique place.
That was nice. That’s the kind of gym that I wanted to belong to. I briefly wondered if I would be working out with eighty-year-olds. Probably not. But if so, I wondered what machines they used the most. Probably the treadmills. Anywho, I was now a member of Crunch gym—A truly unique place.
UNAVAILABLE FUNDS VS. INSUFFICIENT FUNDS
The next day I got paid and mailed my rent check for July. It was a few days late, but I didn’t think it would be that big of a deal. And because I was super cash-poor, I had to get some more American Express Gift Cheques to have some spending money, as well as charge my bus card and groceries again. Everyone took American Express. Even Starbucks, which was good because I don’t like making my coffee at home.
I lived right across the street from a grocery store called D’Agostino. It was really nice and carried organic produce. My favorite thing to eat was the lettuce in a bag with organic chicken breasts. Monica on Friends had a canvas D’Agostino bag that she used to carry her groceries home in, and I bought myself one too. It is important to conserve.
During the next two weeks, things got more serious at work. The show went into production full swing, and one producer quit, which put a bit more pressure on the rest of us to pick up the slack. Brad called twice to go out, but I had to cancel because of work. He hadn’t called or e-mailed since, and I couldn’t help but feel neglected.
Before I knew it, it was payday again. Once more I had to send the whole thing to American Express, so I went to my bank’s ATM to make a deposit. At the end of the transaction, I looked to see what my balance was. The screen said $3,600. Huh? How could that be? Did my rent check not clear yet? I mailed it over two weeks ago, so I wasn’t sure how it couldn’t have. I decided to look into it further.
I pushed the button at the bottom of the screen that said “Account History.” A few seconds later, a list of recent transactions appeared. I looked through the list and saw that the check to the phone company had cleared, as had the one to American Express. But there was no sign of my rent check. I then noticed a charge for $30 for something called a Non-Available Funds fee. I had no idea what that was.
I pushed the button at the bottom of the screen that said “More History” and was taken to another screen with more transactions. It was then that I saw it—check 115 for $1,800 returned! Oh my gosh! That was my rent check! They returned my rent check! How could this be though? I had money in my account! I pushed the Exit button as fast as I could, took my receipt and made my way up to the teller. I had to find out how this happened.
I waited in line for what seemed like forever until it was my turn to talk to a teller. When I was up, I headed toward the very last teller window, where the small light was blinking, signaling she was available.
“Hi,” said the young woman behind the desk. She was the enemy.
“Hello,” I said, trying to remain calm while handing her my deposit receipt. “I was just depositing my paycheck into my checking account and noticed that you wrongly sent my rent check back last week. I had money in my account, which I deposited the week before. I want to know what happened.” I was near tears. I couldn’t believe they sent my rent check back.
“Let me take a look,” she said while typing a bunch of numbers into her computer. “Hmmm…. It looks like it was sent back because you had non-available funds.”
“What do you mean non-available funds? I had the money in there!”
“Yes, you had it in there, but it wasn’t available yet.”
“What does that mean?” I asked.
“Well, I’m assuming the check you deposited was an out-of-state check since it looks like it took so long to clear. When you deposit out-of-state checks, it takes five days for them to clear. They don’t clear automatically. It’s during that time that your funds are non-available. So any checks that come through against those funds, bounce.”
“Five days? That’s crazy. It’s a paycheck. Of course it’s going to clear. In Chicago, all the funds from my paychecks were available the next day.”
“This isn’t Chicago,” she said, “and all this was probably explained to you when you opened your account.”
“I don’t think it was,” I snapped back, trying to remember if it was. No, I don’t think that it was.
“Well, now you know. You can take out one hundred dollars one day after, and three hundred dollars two days after you deposit an out-of-state check,” she said.
“Thanks. That was my rent check you sent back. What am I supposed to do now?” I asked.
“I don’t know, call your landlord?” she said rudely.
“Gee, thanks,” I said, walking away.
I couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t believe that I bounced my first rent check. I know I was mad at the bank, but it was ultimately my fault, I guess. It was an honest mistake though. I’m sure my landlord would understand. Ugh. I’d have to call them to tell them what I did.
Later that afternoon I made the dreaded phone call to my landlord. I was so embarrassed. I explained the whole story to the accounts payable woman. She told me not to worry, but said that I needed to send a cashier’s check for the $1,825—my rent plus a $25 fee—to be current. So, on my way home from work that night, I went back to the bank, but this time to a different teller, to get my cashier’s check.
BUDGET CUTTING
The next week I was sitting at my desk working. Gwen, who was sitting next to me, was going through a nasty divorce and had just hung up on her soon-to-be ex-husband. I tried not to listen but with short cubes, you couldn’t keep many things private. I had e-mailed Brad earlier in the day and was waiting to see if he e-mailed me back.
A few hours later, a return e-mail still hadn’t come. Disappointed, I went to the bathroom and looked at myself in the mirror. In my best Stuart Smalley im
pression I said, “I’m good enough. I’m smart enough. And doggone it, people like me.” Naw, I didn’t say that. But I did look in the mirror and catch a glimpse of my roots.
Now, I’m a blonde, but I’m not a real blonde. I’m also not one of those “I bought a bottle of blonde at the drugstore and now I’m a kind of orange-blonde.” I’m a “I’ve had my hair colored and highlighted for so long that I don’t know what the real color is anymore” blonde. It looks great. It looks natural. I’ve actually had it highlighted since I was in grade school. As a matter of fact, I was the first girl in my grade school with highlights. And Guess jeans for that matter. They were the two-toned kind.
But back to my roots. They were horrible. I needed to get them done immediately. But finding a good colorist in a new city is not as easy as it sounds. You just can’t waltz into a place and ask for highlights. You have to seek out the good people. Back in Chicago, Naomi and I were experts at this. We had been to every salon in the city. We’d find someone who we liked and go to them for a while. Then they’d get really comfortable with us, and would start making little screwups, like not making it look as natural or something. And the next month we’d be off to find someone else. We were hair whores.
I had just read an article all about the best colorists in New York, but I couldn’t remember what magazine it was in. Was it Glamour? Was it Allure? I just couldn’t recall. It could be any one of a hundred. I’m sort of addicted to beauty magazines. I read all of them every month. They’re good for me. I am really on top of my game the first few days after I read them. I eat better, I pay more attention to penciling in my eyebrows, I deep condition my hair—they make me want to be a better person.
There is nothing that I love more than going into a bookstore or a magazine shop and seeing the brand-new cover of a magazine that I haven’t yet read. I get so excited! I grab it off the shelf, and buy it up as quickly as I can. It’s one of my favorite pastimes. Some people play soccer. Some people play chess. Me? I read beauty magazines.
My new apartment had a twenty-four-hour magazine shop right across the street, and they had every magazine there—even the foreign ones with the big, thick glossy covers. So if I was ever bored, or couldn’t sleep or something, I would go to the magazine shop and buy a bunch of magazines. They accepted American Express.
After visiting all the magazine websites that I had bookmarked on my computer, I finally remembered that it was Allure. Yes! That was it! Allure. They actually had a guide to the best colorists in the city right on their website. Let’s see…they listed Oscar Blandi, Garren New York, Pierre Michel, and Louis Licari. Yes, these all sounded familiar. They were the same people mentioned in the article. I started at the top of the list and started calling to see if I could get an appointment for that Saturday. It was an emergency!
“Louis Licari,” a woman said.
“Hi! I’d like to make an appointment for a single process, a full head of highlights and a haircut for this Saturday,” I said. Since my hair is brown (I think), colorists have to single process the roots to bump it up a notch to a lighter brown so it’s not so dark. Then they give me blond highlights on top of that. Doing this makes it look less “skunky.”
“Yes, no problem. Do you have anyone particular that you’d like the color or cut with?” she asked.
“No, not really. I’m new to the city,” I said.
“Okay, I have Michelle open at ten A.M. for the color, and David open at noon for the cut. Does that sound good?” she asked
“Yes, that sounds great,” I said. “Thank you so much. Oh, by the way, what do your prices start at?”
I don’t know what possessed me to ask this question. But this was New York, so I thought I’d better ask.
“Your single process will begin at one hundred dollars, the highlights will begin at two hundred dollars, and your cut will begin around one hundred twenty-five dollars.”
Huh? I always got my hair done at the nicest salons in Chicago and it never cost me $400. After tip it would be like $480! That’s almost $500! I usually paid about $200 tops. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want to cancel right then for fear of sounding cheap.
“Uh…okay. See you Saturday,” I said, hanging up.
I quickly started to call the other salons to see what their prices started at. One after another they all told me the same prices. How could that be? There are millions of fake blondes in New York, and they can’t all pay $400 a month to get their hair colored. What was I going to do?
I looked down and noticed a New York magazine sitting next to me. If you live in New York, then a subscription to New York magazine is a must. It’s a weekly guide to what’s going on in the city. It highlights the best Zagat-rated restaurants, the hottest clubs, has pictures of various socialites and celebs at the latest charity events and parties. I started flipping through it. Surely they must have a beauty guide. All of a sudden a headline grabbed my attention.
Sales & Bargains: Style Setters
This week’s highlights: A fab haircut doesn’t require a second mortgage or months on a waiting list: These stylists are pros at budget cutting.
Holy smokes! What timing! This is exactly what I needed! The article started out…
Manhattan is so taken by the cult of the hairdresser that it sometimes seems there’s nobody between Garren or Fekkai (at $350 a trim) and your local barber…
It was like God was speaking to me. He knew I had to get my hair done and didn’t know where to go! It was a sign. I kept reading the article as it went on to list five places that offered bargain haircuts. One by one I called them all, and one by one they told me they were booked. I had one left to call. It was a place called Red Salon.
Tired of minimalism? Red Salon is done up nineteenth-century-boudoir-style, with deep-red curtains and chandeliers. The atmosphere is low-key in a downtown way, drawing everyone from Lou Reed and the Cardigans to Vogue and Allure editors. You’ll pay $70 to $100, depending on the cut, not the stylist (so it’s great for a trim). Highlights are $135 to $175.
Only in New York would $70 for a haircut be considered a bargain. But I didn’t have time to look any further. Red Salon was my last chance. I picked up the phone and asked if they had any openings for Saturday. And they did! I was in! My appointment was at 11 A.M. with a guy named Vlad.
Phew! That was a close call! With a smile on my face, I picked up the phone to cancel my appointment with Louis Licari.
“Louis Licari,” a voice answered.
Crap! It was the same woman who took my appointment. I was hoping I’d get someone different.
“Yes, I need to cancel an appointment for Saturday. It looks like I have to go out of town last minute,” I said, lying.
“Okay, miss. What’s your name?” she asked.
“Karyn Bosnak, I just made the appointment. I just found out that I have to go out of town for work and won’t be able to make it.”
“Oh, okay. Did you want to reschedule?” she asked.
“Oh, no. I’ll call you when I get back.”
“Okay. You are all canceled then,” she said.
“Thank you,” I said hanging up the phone.
I figured the new place would be at least $100 cheaper. And that was good enough for me.
SHAMPORGASM
Before I knew it, Saturday came and I headed for the subway to go to my hair appointment. Brad hadn’t returned my e-mail from earlier in the week, but I wasn’t going to let it get me down. I looked on my map and saw that Red Salon was located on West 11th Street in the West Village. I had been to the West Village once before I moved here. It was so pretty and felt very European. It was the reason I wanted to move here. So I found the closest subway and headed downtown.
I wasn’t a big fan of the subway, and had only been on it a few times. I usually used the bus or cabs to get around town. The subway was just so hot and stinky! And my hair was always flat and my makeup was always runny after I took it. Yuck! But today it didn’t matter so much because I
was going to get my hair done. So off to the subway I went.
I found the correct train and sat down in my seat. As the train started moving, I noticed a little boy sitting to the left of me. I smiled at him and he blushed. I laughed and looked away. I then looked back at him and crossed my eyes. He blushed again and gave me a big smile this time. A few seconds later I stuck out my tongue at him and made little devil ears with my fingers. I was going for a laugh here. But instead his smile disappeared and he started screaming. Oops! It wasn’t that scary. His scream quickly turned into tears and I looked away and pretended that I had nothing to do with it. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw his mother shoot a nasty look in my direction, but I pretended not to notice. I decided that it was best not to mess with people on the train. The “clientele” down there was a bit more rough than it was on the crosstown 57th Street bus.
With that I started to zone out like I always do when I travel. Whether traveling by cab, bus or train, I space out. I don’t know how long I was zoned out, but all of a sudden over the loudspeaker I heard something like, “Mex Top Brookland.”
Huh? Then I heard it again, a bit more clearly, “Next stop Brooklyn.”
Oh my gosh! I stood up really quickly and jumped out the closing door. I looked at the signs in the station. They said Brooklyn Bridge. I didn’t know if that meant I was on the Manhattan side of the Brooklyn Bridge, in the middle of the Brooklyn Bridge, or all the way in Brooklyn itself. I headed toward a map on the wall.
I didn’t know anything about Brooklyn, except that it’s on the other side of the river and it’s a whole other world over there. I saw it in the movies, and it was always kind of scary. And I worked with a guy who lived in Brooklyn and he was scary too.