When I made the appointment, my regular stylist wasn't available. I was desperate and the time of the appointment was crucial as it had to be when Scott was available to do baby care.So I took who was available and figured that since it is a nice salon, anybody could only improve on the current state of my hair. So imagine my surprise when I hear the stylist call my name and I look up to see a woman straight out of the eighties, complete with a perm and mini-bangs. Oh God, oh God, oh God. What could I do? My southern politeness didn't allow me to do anything but get up and follow her.
We had the standard talk about what I wanted and she began the highlighting process. Now I'm not great at small talk but I do OK when the person I'm talking to is more of a talker. Unfortunately, this girl seemed to have a similar style to me so after a few awkward attempts at conversation we settled into an awkward silence. Honestly, I just didn't have the energy to make a big effort and I secretly love to just sit there and listen to all the conversations around me.
Everything was a normal haircut, she didn't try to talk me into looking like either Anne Wilson or Pat Benatar. All was well until it came time to dry and style. She asked if I wanted it straight or curly and I said it didn't matter since it was humid out and I have a hair-grabbing 5 month old so I was just going to pull it back anyway. I then said that if she wanted to do it curly, I just didn't want a lot of product in it because I don't want it to look stiff and crunchy. Now I don't know if something got lost in translation or she took a personal offense to the "cruchy hair" comment or what but next thing I know, I'm being led to the counter, with head full of wet hair. I didn't even realize what was happening until the cashier told me the cost.
I decided that it was best just to go. If I insulted her, the last thing I wanted to do was let her near my hair again. I left a minimal tip and am left wondering if I need to find a new salon or not.
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