Why the first cut is the deepest…

I was attacked by my hairdresser. I was butchered and left for dead. It taught me a very valuable lesson: don’t insult your hairdresser. Ever. No matter how rude and obnoxious she is. Unless you are fully prepared to throw off the gown and walk out the door, you'll have to grin and bear it. I pissed my hairdresser off and paid a terrible price.

Here's what happened. I was a bit annoyed because my hairdresser spent an unholy amount of time discussing her nails with her previous customer, even though it was well into my time slot. And then she spent some more time discussing purses and where to buy them. And then she went back to discussing her nails, this time focusing more on the age-old mystery of whether it was better to visit a nail salon or to have someone come over to her house. When her nails had finally been discussed to death, she said farewell to her previous customer, and disappeared to the back of the salon.

I let go of my anger. I decided that this girl was not actually supposed to be cutting my hair. I wasn’t sure which of the girls had been allocated to my head, so I’d mistakenly assumed it was her. Silly me. My hairdresser was one of the other girls. A nice, friendly girl who had obviously been detained through no fault of her own.

It felt good to relax and not have to feel taken advantage of.

However, moments later the nail-girl returned from the back and leisurely pushed her trolly towards me. As she passed, she said 'Hi!'. But she said it in a manner that seemed to suggest she’d only just noticed me, and was surprised to find me waiting. Even though I should have been done by then.

So I gave her a cold shrug. A kind of 'Hi yourself, I'm sure you're not my hairdresser because no sane person would have kept me waiting this long while she discussed her nails with a previous customer who had already paid up and was standing in the doorway to leave anyway' - shrug. This was not actually a very complicated shrug. As it turns out, it takes surprisingly little effort to convey all that in a single shrug.

Anyway, long story short, I was a little cold to my hairdresser. Way to stand up for myself, I know. I didn't put her in her place. I didn’t call the manager. I didn’t even pee on her shoes. Not a drop! I was merely a little cold. But, it was enough. Oh yes. She attacked my hair like a madwoman, left me with very little to play with. I look like the victim of some new and frightful disease.

I would have stopped her, but there really was no point. After that first cut, which was of course the deepest, she had to keep going. You can’t put anything back, so I had no option but to let her at least even it all out. I closed my eyes and prayed there would be something left when I opened them. There was, but it looked terrible.

I should show you. I really should. Then we could be outraged together. Sadly, my camera is broken.

Honestly.

It doesn't take pictures anymore. And probably won't for the next 3 to 4 weeks …




[image error] [image error] [image error]