Don't Touch the Hair

Yesterday morning I realized I had scheduled a hair appointment for 9:30 a.m. that day.   When it dawned on me I looked in the mirror and thought, man, I don't really need a haircut, but I will go because it is RUDE not to show for an appointment.


I get to the salon (let's face it, it is in a strip mall and it has a cheesy name, but it is still technically a salon) and check in.  The receptionist tells me she will let Andrea (pronounce On-dre-a, not And-dre-a) know I am there.  The clock ticks by.  Five minutes pass.  Ten pass.  Andrea comes out of the back room with cell phone to her head motioning to her chair while she talks on the phone about "camp."  I groan.  I have been going to this woman for 2 years, and ALL this woman EVER talks about is Girl Scouts.  Nothing against the Girl Scout organization, it seems like a fine wholesome thing to have your daughter participate in, but I am tired of hearing about the drama in her troop, I am tired about listening who has to sleep next to who in the tent, I am tired about hearing about how she has to leave work to run to Micheal's to get extra craft materials...I am just tired of Andrea's talk.


Andrea FINALLY gets off the phone (RUDE!) and starts to go on about what supplies and how far they are going to hike at camp.  She does not greet me.  She does not ask me how I would like my hair cut.  She does not ask me how I AM DOING.  She just starts talking about freaking Girl Scouts and cutting my hair.  And I grow quiet, too quiet.  And get pissed.


If you know anything about me, or have spent any time with me, you would know that if I suddenly grow very quiet, it is usually that I am so supremely pissed off that I can't speak.  Either that or I am hungry.  Maybe distracted.  But, most times when I am quiet?  Watch out.  I AM PISSED.  I guess I take after my Dad in that respect.


Andrea finally shuts up for a second and I tell her that it is summer and I want my hair a bit shorter, but since it has only been about 4 weeks since my last haircut (I had to schedule this soon because of freaking Girl Scout camp next week) not too short.  Andrea pulls out her card* that lists my last 15 haircuts and the measurements on how she cut it and takes a peek.  (* Remember this card.  This is key.)  Andrea proceeds to cut my hair, pulls out the blow dryer, OH NO SHE DIDN'T and puts a LARGE wad of goo in my hair and starts blow drying it with one of those large round scratchy brushes.  UH-HUH?  My face must have gone from pissed to puckered up, because what the heck?  She took one look at me and immediately stopped.


By this time?  My hair was sticking S*T*R*A*I*G*H*T off my head.  Like I had stuck a finger in a light socket.  Andrea pulled out the mirror and showed me the back like she was proud.  I looked at it, ran my fingers through the obvious shelf-y bumps and must have puckered harder.  Andrea asked if how it was and I commented with a fine, getting up out of my chair and taking the drape off.


I went up front, paid and left.


So, I figure I get my haircut every 5 weeks or so, so that would be roughly 10 haircuts a year. I have been going to Andrea for 2 years and change...that means she has cut my hair over 20 times.  When I first started going to Andrea I filled out my client card* and noted a few things about my hair preferences.  First, I NEVER want my hair blowed dry.  I don't do it at home, it is a large waste of time since when the stylist does it it looks like cotton candy old lady hair, I just hate the blow dryer.  Second, I noted I love short hair, but never want it to look too butch, mannish or stereotypically lesbian spiky.   Third, I don't want a distinct shelf in the back of my hair.  I did that for years, and it just isn't my current look.  Fourth, I don't like those scratchy brushes like my Mom used to rat the crown of her hair with.  They are a thing of my childhood and it gives me the creeps.  Back when I filled the thing out I thought the client card was a great idea...get all my dirty laundry in the air, BUT TODAY SHE DIDN'T DO WHAT I ASKED.


Add the fact that I looked like I stuck my finger in a light socket to the fact that I can't stand her Girl Scout nonsense...I will not be returning.


I went outside to get in my car and remembered that I needed to stop at the store to get coconut for a dessert that Hannah was making for a party we were going to.  As I was driving to the store madly looking for something in the car to plaster my hair down with, it started to rain.  I parked and walked out into the rain hoping my hair would get sopping wet on the walk into the store.