Inside Gigi's World

I started Pathfinder the year of 1998. I wasn’t scared or nervous like most people would be starting over in a new school, I was thrilled, so excited, for probably one of the first times ever about going to school.

I wasn’t worried about making new friends, most of my people were coming along with me. I wasn’t worried about getting new teachers or administration, I walked through the gauntlet of small town teaching politics throughout my school career up until that point so I welcomed any new shit storm that was headed my way with open arms.

As I walked into the school I was ready for whatever came my way.

What shop would I take? Who would I be in shop with?

I was first introduced to Jimmy Maisto my Freshmen year in the lunch line. He had lunch duty. I cut in front of my friend in line, he caught me and sent me to the back of the line. What a jerk off.

I then had Mr. Maisto during my Freshmen exploratory. He was the Cosmetology related teacher. I really did not think that I was going to take that shop, I couldn’t stand him and I didn’t want to be one of those “cosmo girls”. I had no problems telling him that. He had no problem telling me I was an asshole.

I ended up picking Horticulture. I wanted to grow things and play with pretty flowers. But then I learned that I had to go outside in the dead of winter to prune trees. My exact words to that were “Fuck that, I’ll be upstairs making people look pretty” and the rest was history from there.

Even once I made it into Cosmo, I wondered if this was what I really wanted to do with the rest of my life. It is a tall order to ask a 14 year old to choose what they wanted to be when they grew up, in all fairness it is a tall order to ask adults, nevermind a hormonal teenager.

It was difficult for me at first to transition from playing in dirt and being outside in the warm sunshine to being in a mock salon all day where the only window looked out into the hallway of the school where the kids walking bye would flip us off, bang on the windows and startle us, wave….you know, typical kid shit. Our only sense of companionship came from the girls we were in shop with and our mannequin heads that most of us named, pierced and painted their faces.

Most of our Sophmore year consisted of rolling the God awful roller sets that we were assigned and copied onto copy paper, black and white, an actual step by step road map of what we needed to do. Numbered 1 through blah, blah, blah, doing at least one day and manicures, scalp treatments and facials. I hated those roller sets almost as much as I hated the finger wave curl goo and the stupid mannequin stand that kept falling off of my station. I can not even tell you how many times I punted that head across that shop room.

Mr. Maisto’s words of wisdom to me, “maybe if you stopped coming to school stoned, you’d be able to focus better”

Well, maybe Jimmy. Maybe…..

He called me Angelo.

He had no problem when telling me when he thought I was being a moron and I always appreciated the honesty and bluntness.

He had his hands full with us girls, him and Mrs. Koch and Mrs. Cosmopolous.

We were a rowdy bunch. All strong willed and even srtonger personalities. There were days Mrs. Cosmopolous would stop teaching us and go into her office just so she didn’t have to deal with us. After all these years, I still don’t blame her. She was going through a difficult time in her life and we didn’t help.

The one person who had the ablilty to rein us in was Mr. Maisto. He was just like us. He was bold and even when he sounded like an ass he stood by what he said.

There were so many fights, so many laughs, and even when we hated each other there was still some kind of love. We were like your typical dysfunctional family and he was like the den mother. He led us even when it was hard, even when other teachers couldn’t. He may have needed electrical probes to keep us in line but if it was needed, he would do it.

Around my Junior year I had to make a decision, is this what I wanted from my life? Mr. Maisto told me that he thought if anyone could make it in this field, it was me. When I told him I was worried I would cut a little kid’s ear when they wouldn’t sit stil he told me a story about an old stylist that used to work for him at his salon. There was a little boy who was moving all around, screaming and acting like a little animal. The parents weren’t doing anything to help the situation so when the parents weren’t looking the stylist that worked for him bent over and whispered in his ear “if you don’t stop moving I’ll cut your fucking ear off”. He said the little boy sat perfectly still from that point on. To this day, when I see a little kid hoopping around before they get their hair cut, I smile and think of him.

One time my Mom was coming in for Mother’s Day, we would always have the Moms come in as a special treat the Friday before in shop week. He gave me two passes for the Tea Room which was the school’s little resturant at the time. He came in while we were eating lunch so he could introduce himself to my mother. He told her all the things that a parent hopes to hear from a teacher, she’s doing well, pleasure to have in class. My mom responded that she was happy to hear it and his response to that was “if I could only get her to come to calss”. Needless to say there was some serious explaining I had to do when I got home.

We had to wear these awful student I.Ds when we were in school. The staff did as well. He decided that he was going to cut out a picture of George Bush and use that for his school photo ID. He said it’s because George Bush was his only boss he had to listen too but mostly it was to piss off Mr. Thompson.

He fancied himself a Ladies’ Man. He enjoyed a good joke and one of his favorite things to do was to make his own pictures, he had a specal wall in the related room where he hung them. He would find funny pictures and cut the heads off of other pictures of faculty and students and glue their heads to them.

It used to drive the girls in shop crazy because I was always aking pictures but I find as I go through them now and see so many people that are no longer with us, I am glad I didn’t stop.

Most people that did not have him for a teacher disliked him, he didn’t mind. Other students accused him of playing favoriteswith us “Cosmo Girls” and of course he did. Why would he have not?

He taught hundreds of students throughout his career. He has helped produced some of the finest hairstylists that I have had the pleasure of caling my peers. I never thought in a million years, if you would have asked me in the June of 2002 when I graduted or August of 2002 when I recieved my cosmetology license, that I would still be doing this, but he did. He pushed me to be better.

When I graduated he told me that he would miss me, that I was one of his favoite seniors, Jessica P. being the other. He told me to go on and do big things.

There are times, still, to do this day, after all these years when I am behind the chair or otherwise, I ask myself what is it that he would do?

The graduates of the Pathfinder Cosmetology department, that were lucky enough to have him as a teacher and mentor, stories have changed. He has gone from being a person in their story to a chapter now far behind us and he is a memory.

He may have been small clips in other people’s stories and some of those clips may not be so flattering. But to us, he was ours. As I scroll through Facebook tonight and see all my fellow “Cosmo Girls” mourn the loss of a man that we loved, I feel a little home sick for a time when life seemed so hard but really it was so easy, I miss my mannequin. I miss my station and dispensary. I miss singing the Dixie Chicks and laughing until we couldn’t breath. I miss break time and tater tots, my shop smock and that smelly locker room with the blue lockers. Life seeemd like it would go on forever then. When we wanted to be so grown that we forgot to enjoy being stupid kids. Tonight, I think we all feel a little older and maybe, just maybe like a little piece of our sparkle dimmed.

Till we meet again Jimmy. May the ladies treat you well, may your platforms be full of fish, your perms be tight and your scissors be sharp. We will miss you.