Thursday, July 26, 2007
I Chopped It Off
It's always a bit scary for most people while trying out a new place. It's best to get a referral from one of your friends or more. Then you can see the work the stylist does. Good luck.
--Facebook message from friend who is a stylist.
Whilst in debt, I often passed by this new salon on our street and gazed longingly into its resplendent window. Such elegant floral arrangements. Such ornate fixtures. Gold and gilt and maroon and roses and big paintings of Victorian boudoir scenes and a fountain. And two guys manning the chairs!
“That is the place for me.” I said wistfully, vowing to treat myself as soon as the debt was gone.
The day finally arrived. “I’m out of debt,” I instructed, “chop it off!” This was going to be ceremonial.
I liked my hairdresser immediately. Tanned, capris, pearl earrings and makeup, not to mention arm loads of gold bangles. He told stories of his 30-year career. He served me tea in a delicate china cup and cookies out of a tin.
Then we started talking about debt. Just in general terms and not for long, but he seemed to get distracted and a bit nervous. It got worse as the hour wore on and by the time he took out the scissors, he seemed downright stressed. It showed in the haircut.
“It’s great!” I said a little uncertainly when it was all over. I looked again. It wasn’t great. He handed me the mirror to check out the back. It was worse. But he had another client waiting and I have big trouble telling people what I think of their work. I tipped him 15%. That's how much trouble I have. So I just left.
For the rest of the afternoon I wore a path in between my computer and the mirror. I told myself to sleep on it. But as the blow-dry calmed down, it got worse, not better.
My former hairdresser had given me a bad cut and didn’t seem to know colours outside of the “mahogany” group. That is why I switched in the first place. But it was never as bad as this. With a mix of panic and reluctance, I called my old salon.
“She’s on vacation. You can see the owner at 4:30,” the receptionist said. Praise God and hallelujah. (I'm not a Christian but something about bad hair makes me pray)
The owner is Euro and thin, all long curls, heels, jeans and cleavage. “Yes,” she said running her fingers through my hair, “you have a natural wave back here. I can see what he was trying to do but it never would have worked.”
“Exactly. I look like my grade three school picture.”
She smiled distractedly and pulled out four different kinds of scissors. “You should have just come to us first,” she said with a laugh but I knew she wasn’t joking.
It’s shorter than I wanted but it’s much improved. Sadly, the whole process cost me a fortune. My get-out-of-debt haircut(s) pretty much put me back into debt.
What is the lesson here?
posted by Working From Home Today
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