The alarm rings at 7am, and after one, then a second snooze bar slap I’m up and ready to prepare for the first day of a new life. That’s how I’m trying to view this, not merely as an opportunity for a new job, but as a whole new life I’m trying to create. New job, new sort of people I’ll be working with, new skill sets to develop, and even more “new” things as my two-year plan unfolds.

On with the black clothes… black pants, black shirt, shoes, belt – it’s just so much like the LAST time I was in school, just add a picture of Sid Vicious to the shirt! The all-black uniform is supposed to look more professional, as well as to conceal any stains that land on your clothes while mixing chemicals. Personally, I think we all look like we’re going to a Satanic prom. I fill my briefcase with all my new school supplies (no Trapper Keeper this time – do they still make those?) and see what the day brings me, black clothes and all.

My first impression? I am such a foreign fly in this girlie soup! I mean I’m not surprised really but it’s a little off-putting on my first day, and I occasionally feel as though people are staring at me. There’s no actual bell for the gathering for attendance, but in place of a bell they play pop music on the stereo in one of the classrooms where we all gather. I walk in with what I believe to be Justin Timberlake in my ears (which feels like rape when you get right down to it), a few of the instructors are sort of dancing in place to it, and I’m basically surrounded by the sort of people this kind of music is manufactured for. Well I didn’t stand out TOO badly – at least I’m meeting dress code: my skirt isn’t too short, my Capri pants aren’t actually long shorts, and my blouse doesn’t show off too much cleavage. Thank goodness – I didn’t want to come off like some sort of tart!

Later on, as I’m reading through some material addressing how to develop your professional identity, I have to memorize the make-up tips. No, NOT the kind of make-up I have to learn how to apply to clients, but the kind of make-up that will make my wide jaw seem slimmer, and how to apply my foundation in the morning. Sure, this doesn’t apply to me, but I have to memorize it anyway – because I’m going to be tested on it! I mean sure – they can’t change the the curriculum just for me, but it adds a little to my internal tension.

There were one or two moments of panic. It didn’t stick around long, but it was most certainly something I could define as “Panic.” I thought to myself that I’ve done something very wrong in choosing this line of work. I don’t belong here (not only because of gender, either), this isn’t FOR me. Why did I choose this line of study? I’ve never wanted to be a hair stylist, it was an impulse – maybe my impulse was wrong! I’m such an ugly duckling in this feminine world. I’m a straight male with masculine interests and a snide attitude. I ride motorcycles, I like Kung Fu movies and video games, I like porn, beer, extreme metal music and the Howard Stern show. I hate dancing, I hate pop music, I hate drama, I’ll absolutely never get a manicure or pedicure and I will never refer to them, in practice, as a “Mani-Pedi!”

While fighting the urge to pack up my stuff and drop out of school I ask myself “And just where are you going to go? Your previous career path has already been sold-off to the lowest bidder. The other careers you looked into were even LESS your style! You would have hated half the jobs, and would probably have flunked out of the schools of the other half. Stop being difficult! YOU wanted a different life with completely new challenges – well what the hell do you call THIS, cupcake? This is a test of your mettle you retard! Since when do you walk away from a challenge? Do you think female mechanics have it any easier? What about male nurses? Grow the hell up and learn the make-up tips already!”

Who cares? Who cares if I’m surrounded by the pop music, Paris Hilton, American Idol crowd? It’s not as though they’re going to force me to dance and go out for Margaritas and karaoke! Who cares if this is not my most macho of endeavors? Who defines “Macho” anyway? I mean I have a straight razor and something called a “Blood Spill Kit” in my toolbox – just when is THAT not a cool thing? Who cares if I’m the sore thumb sticking out of this student body? I don’t HAVE to fit-in at my school, I’m only going to be here for a year anyway, it’s the job and the industry that I’m here for. The moment of crisis was brief, and mostly to blame on the “first day of school” jitters and not so much on gender role issues. Day Two was much easier. I’m looking forward to Day Three.