On free hair cuts...
This afternoon I went to Cost Cutters after school. Normally I avoid such places, but it's cheap and I'm broke.
When I arrived I was taken to a station and told my stylist would be with me "in a moment".
Enter... we'll call her "J".
J was frazzled, and I could tell she was completely ungrounded and energetically unbalanced. She'd just arrived to her shift, and proceeded to rush about at an attempt to find all of her things. I waited patiently, assuring her that I had no where to be and could most certainly wait. "There's no need to rush."
Mostly, her running around was making me nervous. If this woman can't handle being late to work, then how can she handle anything work related?
J finally settled, and began to trim my hair. I asked for no more than an inch off, just to clean up the ragged ends and give it a little bit of shape. Easy? One would like to think so.
We chatted for a few moments; basic ice-breaker stuff.
"Where do you work? Oh! Middle school, that must be rough! My girls are in middle school. I sometimes wonder if I should just lock them up in the closet until they're 20."
At this point, she began to cry, and launches into a tirade relating to her ex-husband and custody of the children and how he's an absolute jerk and left her for a younger more beautiful woman and took the girls and it's not her fault she can't hold a job the economy is so bad and she's so lucky to have this job because if she gets fired again she'll lose visitation rights and blah blah blah.
I mean, of course my heart went out to this woman. How could I not feel bad for her? The trouble was, she kept cutting. And cutting. And cutting.
Pretty soon, J was in hysterics. And still cutting my hair. I finally managed to flag down the manager and ask if there is anyone else who can finish my trim because obviously J is unwell and needs a few moments to calm down.
The manager took over. She told J to take an early lunch, and then looked at the back of my head with a puzzled expression. And then a frown. And furrowed eyebrows.
Uh oh.
She explained to me that in order to "clean up" the mess J left, she would need to take off at least 4 inches.
I've been trying to grow my hair long for two years now. 4 inches is nearly 6 month's worth of growth!
"How bad is it?"
"Remember when your little cousins thought it would be hilarious to hack at your hair with scissors?"
"Oh."
45 minutes (and some creative layering) later, my hair was roughly shoulder length. The manager apologized to me a hundred times over, paid for my cut, and gave me a $25 gift card. Like I'm going to go back there. Ever.
At this point, I'm just grateful I have hair left.
*Note to self: I get what I pay for. Cheap hair cuts mean undereducated stylists. Looking good and getting what I want is worth an extra $10-$20.
When I arrived I was taken to a station and told my stylist would be with me "in a moment".
Enter... we'll call her "J".
J was frazzled, and I could tell she was completely ungrounded and energetically unbalanced. She'd just arrived to her shift, and proceeded to rush about at an attempt to find all of her things. I waited patiently, assuring her that I had no where to be and could most certainly wait. "There's no need to rush."
Mostly, her running around was making me nervous. If this woman can't handle being late to work, then how can she handle anything work related?
J finally settled, and began to trim my hair. I asked for no more than an inch off, just to clean up the ragged ends and give it a little bit of shape. Easy? One would like to think so.
We chatted for a few moments; basic ice-breaker stuff.
"Where do you work? Oh! Middle school, that must be rough! My girls are in middle school. I sometimes wonder if I should just lock them up in the closet until they're 20."
At this point, she began to cry, and launches into a tirade relating to her ex-husband and custody of the children and how he's an absolute jerk and left her for a younger more beautiful woman and took the girls and it's not her fault she can't hold a job the economy is so bad and she's so lucky to have this job because if she gets fired again she'll lose visitation rights and blah blah blah.
I mean, of course my heart went out to this woman. How could I not feel bad for her? The trouble was, she kept cutting. And cutting. And cutting.
Pretty soon, J was in hysterics. And still cutting my hair. I finally managed to flag down the manager and ask if there is anyone else who can finish my trim because obviously J is unwell and needs a few moments to calm down.
The manager took over. She told J to take an early lunch, and then looked at the back of my head with a puzzled expression. And then a frown. And furrowed eyebrows.
Uh oh.
She explained to me that in order to "clean up" the mess J left, she would need to take off at least 4 inches.
I've been trying to grow my hair long for two years now. 4 inches is nearly 6 month's worth of growth!
"How bad is it?"
"Remember when your little cousins thought it would be hilarious to hack at your hair with scissors?"
"Oh."
45 minutes (and some creative layering) later, my hair was roughly shoulder length. The manager apologized to me a hundred times over, paid for my cut, and gave me a $25 gift card. Like I'm going to go back there. Ever.
At this point, I'm just grateful I have hair left.
*Note to self: I get what I pay for. Cheap hair cuts mean undereducated stylists. Looking good and getting what I want is worth an extra $10-$20.