Surviving the Hair Salon

On Friday, I got my hair cut.


This is not a post pandering for compliments (but feel free to leave those in the comments anyway).  But mostly to tell you about my extremely bizarre salon experience.

When I get my hair cut, I just call the salon and ask for whoever is available to cut my hair in that time frame on that particular day.  My hair is straight, with no texture.  It’s not colored.  It does not hold curl.  As long as I don’t get That Stylist Who Really Believes They Can Give It Some Shape (they can’t), I’m in a good place.  Anyone can cut my hair.

If you follow me on Twitter, then you know that on Friday, I listened to my salon confirmation call to discover that the receptionist thought my appointment was on Saturday (it wasn’t, I booked it for a Friday and my mother witnessed me making the appointment) and I was just happy to be able to have my hair cut at all on Friday.

On this particular visit, we started off with New Stylist apologizing for being five minutes late because her friend had stopped by with her puppy.

Me: Great.

After New Stylist and I returned from the wash station, she apologized.  Again.

For seeming distracted because they were shutting down April the Giraffe’s feed at 3:30 PM (my appointment started at 3:15).  And she sort of gestured to the iPad that was streaming the feed in the empty station next to us.

I will now take a moment to say the following: (1) It was at this point I was not entirely convinced that I was going to escape the salon with any hair left on my head and, (2) The only things I know about April the Giraffe are that she had the baby, it took a really long time, and that you could watch it on the internet.

Like, you guys I just cannot do it.

She then went on to talk about how emotional she found the giraffe to be and what a connection she had to April and how this was NOT the same as the DNR Eagle Nest Cams.

It was at this point that I realized that she was wearing an I Survived April The Giraffe Shirt.  As I continued to watch her cut my hair in the mirror, I noticed an “It’s a Boy!” birth announcement bunting above the mirror.  Giraffe figurines in the styling products cubby, one of which wore an “April” tag, and one station over, an “It’s a Boy!” mylar balloon.

It was all really too much.

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3 responses to “Surviving the Hair Salon

  1. Uff da. I probably would have made up an excuse to not let that woman near my hair with a pair of scissors, but I also understand how hard it can be to actually get your schedule to allow for a haircut, it looks like it turned out good!

  2. And the worst part – we go in to the hair salon with expectations of a slight break and positive outcomes. Weird as hell is right. Bah!

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