I just had my hair cut. I am frustrated. That's the whole story.For the past year-and-a-half, I've been visiting the most wonderful stylist named Amy who works at Nolas Salon and Day Spa in Fairlawn. She's an angel, a genius, and a really nice lady. But I no longer work in Akron, so driving to Akron to get my hair cut drives up the cost of the cut into the just-can't-do-that range. It's been two months since I've seen Amy. I was looking a little shaggy.
Now, I've lived with shaggy before. But I've got an audition on Friday evening for a position I really, really want, and I didn't want to go into the audition looking and feeling shaggy. So today I ran over to a salon in Girard. I know the owners, who are dear and longstanding friends of my daughter-in-law. I've gone there before for haircuts, but the owner who is the principal stylist always thinks I'm chic, rather than simple, and wants to give me the latest hairstyles. I don't want the latest hairstyle. I want what I've had for the past 15 years. I want what I know looks good on me.
Amy and I have been adjusting and playing and changing until about eight months ago, when we got exactly what we wanted from my thin, fine hair. And I don't want to change.
I walked into the salon this afternoon and sat down in the chair of the stylist who had been assigned to me. She was a pretty young lady, covered in colorful tattoos. But the tattoos don't affect her hearing, do they? From the book I was carrying, I pulled out three photos of me, each showing a variation of the hairstyle Amy had given me. I told the young lady, "I'm simple. I want this hairstyle, just a little shorter. Just trimmed up. I don't want anything chic or fancy. I'm just a simple person."
Whoosh. In one ear and out the other. She fiddled with my hair a minute, then said, "Well, I'd like to stack the back to give you a little more shape." I grimaced, and said, "Maybe just a little." I told her this haircut was about two months old, so needed over half-an-inch cut off, and that the top needed to be kept shorter because of how fine my hair is.
She took me to the shampoo bowl and spent what seemed like fifteen minutes shampooing my hair. Then she took me back to her chair and spent another twenty minutes on the back, followed by about two minutes each on the sides and the top. I said twice that I didn't think she was taking enough off the sides. She held her fingers up and said, "I'm taking half an inch." I'm a sewist; I deal with half-inches and five-eighths-inches on a regular basis. That was no half-inch.
The longer I sat there watching her, the more upset my stomach became. She asked if she could put mousse in my hair, and I said, "Just a little." She asked if she could tease the back and I instantly had a most-pained expression on my face. She saw the expression and said, "Just a little." By the time she had the top poufed up about two inches higher than I ever wear it, I said, strongly, "No, that's too much."
She patted it down where it looked okay, but all I could think was that I had been assaulted. The sides and the top look like only about one-eighth of an inch has been trimmed off. The back has this danged shelf of hair hanging over a neatly trimmed portion. And my bangs look like nothing has been taken off. I just got my hair cut twenty minutes ago and already I can see my bangs without a mirror. And then she sprayed my hair. Spray!
As I stood from the chair, stomach in knots, I knew I would not be coming back into that salon, as much as I personally like the owners. This young woman, who had no appointments booked for the afternoon, had just lost a potentially long-standing client.
I am angry. I am missing Amy. I am upset about having my perfect cut focked up. I am concerned that I will not be able to get this ridiculous cut to look decent for my audition. I am disgusted with myself for …, oh, I don't know for what. For wanting to get it done quickly. For trusting the personnel of a salon that screwed me up two years ago. For not being willing to make the time or money to drive to Akron for a haircut. For thinking I could get it done quickly.
I feel sick.
And to the service professionals reading this post, I say this: When a person tells you she likes simple things, simple hairstyles, give her the god-damned simple hairstyle. Don't feel like you're betraying the reputation of your salon by not giving her the latest spiky chic cutting-edge hairstyle.
Wouldn't you rather be known as a stylist who can listen and implement in a manner that's pleasing to your clients?
Just as every woman of dating age knows that you can't change a man, I would also proffer that you can't change a woman's opinion about her hair. I've been living with this awful, unmanageable hair for 60 years. I know what it will and won't do. I need a simple hairstyle that will look good for six weeks before forcing me back into the salon. Period.
I didn't get what I wanted. I'm just thankful that I only paid $35 for this travesty of customer service.
P.S. Annnnd, the fragrance in the hair spray is so strong I'm going to have to go wash my hair before much more time passes, or risk incurring a migraine. Argh!
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