Me before the 'Hair-met' incident!
Last week my mid-length hair was looking pretty good, if I dare say! The fact I had an appointment for a trim made me wonder if I ought to cancel it, especially on such a rainy horrible summer's day. I’m now thinking that it may have been my intuition and the weather warning me of the events yet to unfold…
As I walked into the salon, the place I’ve often left post-hairdo feeling bloody awesome thanks to the amazing Georgia; who sodding well left recently! I was offered the services of new hairdresser, let’s call her, Sam (nobody will ever know if that’s her real name…)
The baggy cardigan and disinterested look of the 20-something year old was a bit off-putting, but I ignored the little warning signs that were screaming ‘DO NOT HAVE YOUR HAIR CUT WITH THIS PERSON’ and cheerfully sat in the ‘Chair of Doom’, as I’d now like to think of it.
I’d optimistically chosen a lovely funky, choppy style from one of those little magazines that hairdressers have. I knew it would suit me, and I was quietly confident I was going to rock the almost Pixie cut. So, I left my hair in the “capable” scissor-hands of the new hairdresser.
As I sat there, watching my hair not being cut in any way, shape or form that I’d requested, my only thought was to run away screaming. I did at one time beckon a manager over using only my pleading eyes and amateur telepathy. All I needed to do was ask young Sam to “STOP NOW PLEASE!” and actually use my more than ample voice to call over a manager. Tip of the day: Never try and speak telepathically to anyone, it only works if you’re an alien in Star Trek.
What I ended up doing was to ask Sam a few times: “Can you do it like the picture please?” and “Can you just cut some more layers in?” Unfortunately this caused the hairdresser to turn zombie-like and she ignored my pleas much to my alarmed disgruntlement.
The hairdo, or hair-don’t as I now fondly call it, turned out to be a hair-helmet; Just what I always wanted as a child. To add insult to injury, Sam put on some ‘product’ to finish the poor bugger off. I don’t know what she used but it might as well have been lard, it added a sticky/greasy like texture to my poor hair helmet; the likes of which I’ve never experienced before and hope never to again.
I stood shell shocked by the till, slowly turning to the receptionist and getting out my debit card with which to pay for the hideous experience I’d just had. She asked if I’d like to book my next appointment, at which point I considered openly weeping, but I muttered “No thanks, I’d like to see how this grows out first.”
“See how this grows out first?” I thought. If it grew anymore I could be in a car crash and be protected by my lard ridden helmet hair!
Sam smiled as I left the salon, but my face was set and grim. Sadly, it had stopped raining. I wanted to be rained on. I wanted this helmet to go away. I wanted it to be a bit floppy and wash out the lard ridden product. But no, it was warm, sunny, and beautiful. People were walking about with wonder in their mind, a song in their heart, and without a care in the world.
At that moment, I hated those people. I did a bit of speed-walking back to the car, feeling like all eyes were on my greasy bonce.
As I reached the safety of my Mini I cried a bit before I set off home. As I was driving along and listening to cheesy pop songs to make me feel better, I turned a corner and was promptly stuck in traffic for what felt like days. This didn’t exactly lighten my mood.
The front view of my 'Hair-met'
The rear view of my 'Hair-met'
Before I get caught up too much emotionally in this little tale of woe, I’ll skip to the bit where I pleaded with my daughter to give me a ‘buzz cut’. An all over number 4 to be precise, and so she did after being quite mesmerised by the hair helmet.
Now I am shorn, sleek, and shaven. And I am so much happier!
I’ll end on a semi positive note, I complained to the salon from the safety of my home, which was at least 10-miles away. The owner has apologised and offered me a complimentary hair-cut with a different hairdresser, which can be used at any time in the future.
So, given that hair generally grows at around ½ an inch a month, I’ll be back there in approx 3 months or so!
…or will I?
P.S. The moral to this story is If you’re not happy with a service, please just complain, be heard, and get the results you actually want. Don’t feign happiness with a Hair-met, then have to take things into your own hands to feel happy. Get the quality you deserve!