It is not unusual for things to go awry in our lives. Usually we learn a bit and just go on. However it is when we pay good money for the event and it affects what little vanity old age lets us keep, that makes it a bit harder to just grin and bear it.
Some of you know I have been nursing a sore shoulder since a January spill I took on some ice. I am much better but still not totally functional. Combing my hair is still a painful process to be avoided. So as my former perm died and my hair was in desperate need of a cut, I was forced to seek help. My street person look was getting too realistic. So instead of cutting my own hair and giving myself a 5 dollar perm as I normally would, I hired out the job.
A lot of beauticians employ the trick of not letting the customer see what they are doing. They position the chair so our back is to the mirror and talk a lot to distract us. I can understand the reasoning.
This girl had done just that and when she was down to about 4 rollers left to position, she swung me around to see. Mercy, she had used more curlers on a third of my head than I use on my whole head. Well I thought, this perm should last a while.
When the curlers were removed, I was a bit stunned. I was uber kinky, and not in a fun way. There was one real possibility in my future. I could definitely apply to clown school. Where did I put that red nose and huge shoes from my high school days as a clown?
|Not me or my picture. I didn't have the stomach to take an actual photo. Even old gals have pride.|
Did my beautician act alarmed or at least a bit sheepish?? Nope. She not only did not try to comb it out or style it--she just shoved me under a dryer and then quickly out the door after making sure no one would see me exit her shop. I was surprised I didn't get the back door treatment.
I was several inches taller and 75 bucks lighter. Actually, had this happened when my face was all puffy a while back, I could have gone on a 5 county crime spree and no one would know who I was.
I wasn't too alarmed and was thinking surely I could tame the mess somehow once I got home. However hours of painful manipulating with a bum arm did nothing but make it seem to grow bushier and set my shoulder recovery back a good month.
I buried my pride and went to lunch with some friends two days later. It was too early in the perm to do anything but wash and pray. I did meet them for the meal but only after I had wrapped it tightly in a scarf for hours to smush it down before lunch. All through lunch, I could feel it slowly springing back to its original state. Feeling your hair literally growing on your head is a wee bit disconcerting.
My head no longer found rest but remained several inches above what ever I laid it on. I was pretty sure if dropped on my head I would just bounce. The texture was very similar to steel wool and I was thinking it might take tin snips to cut it. After struggling for a week trying to regain control, I could take no more. I needed professional help.
I was not willing to let that original cold hearted beautician tackle the mess even though she owed me. So I desperately hunted for a beautician that could take me in RIGHT NOW. I needed help and I found it. Maybe I should have taken this beautician's instant availability as a warning but I was desperate. What could she possibly do to make it worse? Push come to shove, I would just have her shave it all off and start from scratch.
The new salon was totally empty except for one beautician, usually not a positive sign. She was a middle aged, very thin woman whose own hair was in dire need of a make over. I tried to console myself that often the best beauticians and mechanics seldom had great looking hair or good running cars as they were too busy to work on their own. I didn't hesitate to settle in the chair for I was desperate and there was always the shaved-head solution to fall back on.
However, my luck really improved. She turned out to be quite pleasant, very quick and thankfully talented. In just a few moments, she had deftly lowered my wild hair, clipped off the frizz, shaped the cut and gave me back a modicum of pride. Finally I could go out in public again, hold my head up and be recognized by friends. My budding career as a criminal or a clown was over before it got started. Life was good.
Have you ever had a disaster at the hairdressers or barber shop?? Would you have immediately demanded satisfaction from the original beautician or would you have done like I did to crawl meekly off with a silent vow of never to cross that threshold again?