The Haircut

Today I got my hair cut.

Let’s be absolutely clear about one thing… I *hate* getting my hair cut.  You take time out of your busy schedule to have strangers massage your scalp and run fingers through your hair all the while enduring small talk about things you care nothing about with someone who couldn’t care less about your responses.  If that isn’t bad enough, the end result – no matter how good it looks – is never something I could duplicate… at least not with the effort I’m willing to expend.

But alas, it is one of those necessary evils.  If I took a close look at the underlying reason for my unreasonable hatred of this activity, it would have to be – as with most things – my lack of patience.  With my appointment today, the only thing I did right was showing up with freshly washed hair so I didn’t have to endure the shampoo session.

Mistake # 1 – I decided to go during work hours.  Even though it was a Friday afternoon, this added the whole “what if one of my clients needs me right now and can’t wait a reasonable few minutes for me to return their call/email/text” to my already heightened annoyance of having to go in the first place.  Funny, I never have those kinds of thoughts if I’m out doing something fun.

Mistake # 2 – I hate to be late, so I tend to arrive early.  If you’re impatient to start with, then have to sit around waiting for 10 minutes, it only makes it worse.  Luckily for me, they began my 2:45 appointment within minutes of my arrival.

Mistake # 3 – I don’t use a particular stylist.  Instead, I make an appointment with whoever is available.  You would think once I found a quick, non-talkative person, I would write their name down… but noooo, that would be too much effort.

The lady who led me back to her area looked young and was a sweet as can be, but I knew right away she wouldn’t be quick.  She spent a few minutes organizing her combs before asking what I wanted done. Then she divided my hair into three sections.  To keep two of these sections from getting in the way, she took the hair and twisted it and twisted it and twisted it, paused, then twisted it and twisted it and twisted it.  When she started the next section, I started chanting to myself, “It can’t last forever, it can’t last forever, it can’t last forever.”

It seemed like three hours before she made the first cut.  Even then, she would take a few strands and comb, comb, comb, comb, comb, then do little snips… snip, snip, snip.

Almost done… I could tell she was almost done.  I had survived without being snippy.  Then came the word I hate to hear… “Blow-dryer.”  Normally, I’ve had enough at this point and claim “my hair looks great, no need” or “I’m just heading back home” or “my dogs in the car, I should go” or anything so I don’t have to sit through a blow-drying session.  But she tricked me.  She said, “Let me just blow dry this out and see if anything needs a touch up.”  That made sense and my hair was almost dry any way.

Mistake # 4 – I said, “Okay.”

To my horror, she grabbed the spray bottle and re-wetted my hair.  I had to grit my teeth to keep myself from begging her to stop.  To make matters worse, she grabbed the mousse and massaged it into my scalp.  She then began the tedious act of blow-drying a head of hair that always takes forever to dry.  I clenched my teeth and did my best not to scowl.

Finally, my hair was dry and to my dismay, actually looked pretty good.  But, I was sure I had wasted a good chunk of the afternoon.  I sighed and looked at the clock.  3:05. Oh, twenty minutes.  Now what was her name?

BTW… I spent more time writing this up than getting the darn haircut in the first place!

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