two haircuts in two days
My mother volunteered to take The Bun off my hands last night so I decided to go get a haircut and do some solo shopping in town.
The appointment was 5.30pm with my usual stylist, F, but when I arrived at the salon the receptionist informed me, rather anxiously, that F wasn't around and the previous client (4.30pm) had left without getting anything done. She asked me to wait while she called him (again). I sat for a bit and read a magazine and finally F called back to say he had overslept (!!) and was very sorry but he was on his way. I figured it wouldn't be a problem since I had nothing much to do for the rest of the evening so I went to get a drink and do some shopping while waiting.
At 6.30pm I returned to the salon. F was apologetic - he claimed he had been on some painkillers for a sprained leg and they had knocked him out. We quickly got started. I have pretty short hair, and I wanted to have the curly ends of my hair tidied and my bangs trimmed - not high-level stuff nor anything he hasn't done before with me. As he started cutting, I continued reading my trashy magazine (I am following the TomKat split with too much interest, I think) but after a while I realised that there was something wrong.
For one, F seemed to be spending an awfully long time trimming the back left corner of my head - something like ten minutes. Also, he seemed to be especially clumsy, fumbling with the clips and the comb. It seemed like his hands weren't quite steady. Then there was the periodic spacing out. He would be sitting on his swivel stool and suddenly turn to stare at the wall behind us, swaying slightly and thumping his fist very hard on his thigh, over and over again. When I saw this, I thought he was still feeling drowsy and suggested he take a smoke break, but he said he didn't need one and carried on cutting. Even then, the spacing out continued at intervals.
I began to get alarmed when I noticed his eyes - open wide and the pupils dilated beyond belief. He was sweating profusely, breathing very hard, and he couldn't seem to control his hands at all. He dropped the comb several times. Sometimes his hand would jerk or drop suddenly onto my shoulder, as though he couldn't hold it up properly. And when I watched carefully, I could see that he was trying to look like he was cutting my hair but actually his scissors were snipping very little. The scariest thing was that he would occasionally simply black out for a few seconds, only to jerk awake suddenly and then pretend nothing had happened. Blame me if I'm overly sheltered and it didn't hit me earlier, but it finally dawned on me that he was either high, or coming down from a high.
I pointed all this out to him but he claimed that he was okay and that I should just relax. I started to make excuses, saying that the length was fine and that I was running late and had to run to meet a friend, but he kept trying to finish the cut. I would have gotten up but he already seemed quite unstable and I didn't want to set him off - the man was holding a very sharp pair of scissors. Friends who have heard this story have asked 'why didn't you just get up and leave?' Easier said than done - I was seated in a large armchair, F, who is a big guy, was looming over me, and I was entangled in the various robes and clips and hairstyling paraphernalia. Plus I was quite terrified and I didn't want to piss him off.
I finally managed to escape at 7.30pm because another client arrived. He had just mostly trimmed one side of my head but I felt lucky enough that he didn't butcher more of my hair. He apologised again (for being high? for being late?) and while he was occupied with the next client, I spoke to the receptionist, who was surprised that my hair didn't look cut at all. I told her that he was obviously on drugs, medicinal or not, and that his hands were out of control and he was totally out of it. She looked a bit shocked and said she would observe him. F told her to charge me the minimal fee and I was so eager to leave, I just paid and left. Yes, stupid, stupid, stupid. I should have kicked up more of a fuss, except that F is a freelancer at this salon and doesn't have a boss as such. The owner of the salon wasn't around and I didn't want to bitch out the poor receptionist who didn't know what was going on. All I wanted to do was get as far away as possible and not look back.
I simply had to sit down and talk to someone, so I made my way to C's shop and snatched her away from work for a quick dinner. After some hot food and a lot of ranting, I felt a bit better but really annoyed that my hair had been so badly cut. C told me that one side of the back of my head was shorter than the other. By this time all the shops were starting to close, otherwise I would have just gone straight to another salon to get them to fix my hair. As it were, I had to wait till this morning. In the end I went to run some last quick errands and then returned to C after she had finished work to rant some more.
This morning I met up with my sister, who wanted to see the damage, and we went to a salon at the nearby neighbourhood mall. I could tell this stylist didn't quite know what to make of my story. Turns out that there was a visible bald spot (!) at the back of my head and a random tail of hair as well. The shape was a bit off-looking too, and my pixie sideburns were uneven. She salvaged it by cutting everything really short. I didn't mind. Hair grows back, but I don't want to walk around looking like I cut the back of my own hair with a pair of nail scissors.
I've been F's client since 2005. I guess it's obvious that this is the end of that relationship.
The appointment was 5.30pm with my usual stylist, F, but when I arrived at the salon the receptionist informed me, rather anxiously, that F wasn't around and the previous client (4.30pm) had left without getting anything done. She asked me to wait while she called him (again). I sat for a bit and read a magazine and finally F called back to say he had overslept (!!) and was very sorry but he was on his way. I figured it wouldn't be a problem since I had nothing much to do for the rest of the evening so I went to get a drink and do some shopping while waiting.
At 6.30pm I returned to the salon. F was apologetic - he claimed he had been on some painkillers for a sprained leg and they had knocked him out. We quickly got started. I have pretty short hair, and I wanted to have the curly ends of my hair tidied and my bangs trimmed - not high-level stuff nor anything he hasn't done before with me. As he started cutting, I continued reading my trashy magazine (I am following the TomKat split with too much interest, I think) but after a while I realised that there was something wrong.
For one, F seemed to be spending an awfully long time trimming the back left corner of my head - something like ten minutes. Also, he seemed to be especially clumsy, fumbling with the clips and the comb. It seemed like his hands weren't quite steady. Then there was the periodic spacing out. He would be sitting on his swivel stool and suddenly turn to stare at the wall behind us, swaying slightly and thumping his fist very hard on his thigh, over and over again. When I saw this, I thought he was still feeling drowsy and suggested he take a smoke break, but he said he didn't need one and carried on cutting. Even then, the spacing out continued at intervals.
I began to get alarmed when I noticed his eyes - open wide and the pupils dilated beyond belief. He was sweating profusely, breathing very hard, and he couldn't seem to control his hands at all. He dropped the comb several times. Sometimes his hand would jerk or drop suddenly onto my shoulder, as though he couldn't hold it up properly. And when I watched carefully, I could see that he was trying to look like he was cutting my hair but actually his scissors were snipping very little. The scariest thing was that he would occasionally simply black out for a few seconds, only to jerk awake suddenly and then pretend nothing had happened. Blame me if I'm overly sheltered and it didn't hit me earlier, but it finally dawned on me that he was either high, or coming down from a high.
I pointed all this out to him but he claimed that he was okay and that I should just relax. I started to make excuses, saying that the length was fine and that I was running late and had to run to meet a friend, but he kept trying to finish the cut. I would have gotten up but he already seemed quite unstable and I didn't want to set him off - the man was holding a very sharp pair of scissors. Friends who have heard this story have asked 'why didn't you just get up and leave?' Easier said than done - I was seated in a large armchair, F, who is a big guy, was looming over me, and I was entangled in the various robes and clips and hairstyling paraphernalia. Plus I was quite terrified and I didn't want to piss him off.
I finally managed to escape at 7.30pm because another client arrived. He had just mostly trimmed one side of my head but I felt lucky enough that he didn't butcher more of my hair. He apologised again (for being high? for being late?) and while he was occupied with the next client, I spoke to the receptionist, who was surprised that my hair didn't look cut at all. I told her that he was obviously on drugs, medicinal or not, and that his hands were out of control and he was totally out of it. She looked a bit shocked and said she would observe him. F told her to charge me the minimal fee and I was so eager to leave, I just paid and left. Yes, stupid, stupid, stupid. I should have kicked up more of a fuss, except that F is a freelancer at this salon and doesn't have a boss as such. The owner of the salon wasn't around and I didn't want to bitch out the poor receptionist who didn't know what was going on. All I wanted to do was get as far away as possible and not look back.
I simply had to sit down and talk to someone, so I made my way to C's shop and snatched her away from work for a quick dinner. After some hot food and a lot of ranting, I felt a bit better but really annoyed that my hair had been so badly cut. C told me that one side of the back of my head was shorter than the other. By this time all the shops were starting to close, otherwise I would have just gone straight to another salon to get them to fix my hair. As it were, I had to wait till this morning. In the end I went to run some last quick errands and then returned to C after she had finished work to rant some more.
This morning I met up with my sister, who wanted to see the damage, and we went to a salon at the nearby neighbourhood mall. I could tell this stylist didn't quite know what to make of my story. Turns out that there was a visible bald spot (!) at the back of my head and a random tail of hair as well. The shape was a bit off-looking too, and my pixie sideburns were uneven. She salvaged it by cutting everything really short. I didn't mind. Hair grows back, but I don't want to walk around looking like I cut the back of my own hair with a pair of nail scissors.
I've been F's client since 2005. I guess it's obvious that this is the end of that relationship.