JAWS
Most
men, women and children regularly need to get a little trim or a full-blown
haircut. However, when I must find a hairstylist to tidy my golden locks, my
head begins pulsating with the dreaded ‘Jaws’ theme song. (Dundun-dundun-dundun)
Why
is that, you ask?
Well,
it’s because, every time I get a haircut, it turns into a horrific nightmare.
Then for days afterwards, whenever I look into a mirror or accidently catch my
reflection, I’m painfully reminded that I look like a botched French poodle.
Over
the years, I’ve learned that hair-designers can be very literal people. As a
result, I now optimistically try different communication techniques
anticipating that it will result in getting that ‘totally fabulous’ haircut I
desire.
My
hair mishaps started about six months ago because I said, “my hair is driving
me crazy …cut it off.” (Dundun-dundun-dundun)
The girl actually cuts my hair off. I
looked like my little brother Bryan. For cryin-out-loud, what happened to short
and sassy?
Three
months later I say, “just shape it up.” (Dundun-dundun-dundun)
This same ‘scissor-happy-girl’ now cuts the teeny-tiny-tips of each strand.
Great! Technically, I paid forty-five dollars, tip not included, to have my
hair washed and blown-dry. Hello lady…my bangs are still hanging in my eyes.
Okay,
three weeks later I request a new young hip girl. I bring in a photo of one of the Spice Girls.
Posh has a darling new cut. “I want this style” I nervously say, “Do you think
my hair will do that? Would this style look good on me?” (Dundun-dundun-dundun) Her retort
came quickly. “Do you really expect to look like Posh Spice when I’m done? I’m
not a miracle worker ya know.”
This
young dreadful girl…the snotty brat… says this to me while she smacks her gum
and slurps down a Frappuccino. Needless to say, I walked out of the salon with
a wild Rod Stewart look. I guess that was better than getting a purple Mohawk
and body piercings like the ones she sported.
Getting
smarter in my old age, I request a mature hairdresser at a different salon. I
say, “Loralee, I was thinking about coloring my hair. What do you think?” (Dundun-dundun-dundun) Loralee tunefully informs me that, my grey
hair is like having ‘natural highlights’. “It looks good just the way it is.”
Lord
Help Me! Can you envision the ‘beauty parlor’ look I got? Puffy ratted bangs
and spit-curled side-burns topped off with a thick shinny coat of designer
AquaNet hairspray. Let me tell you, I drove directly home and washed that
‘special-look’ right out of my hair. Nevertheless, in her defense, she did give
me a good basic haircut.
Finally,
at Magic Clippers I found a young hip single mom. (Note: no music.) I love her.
Kerstin is wonderful. She cut my hair perfect. I can wash and blow my own hair
and it actually looks similar to what she created in the salon. I now feel like
I can trust her. When I left, my bangs were not too short and the back is
perfect. She does not leave my neckline
scruffy and best of all she has a good personality. I’m so thrilled. I’m calling the salon right
now to get my second hair appointment with Kerstin. I hope she has an opening
for next weekend.
I
call Magic Clippers. I’m politely informed, that Kerstin no longer works at the
salon. “No, I cannot tell you where she went. Sorry it’s our policy not to give
out personal phone numbers.”
Magic
Clippers has just turned into Tragic Clippers. My acid reflex kicks in. Dundun-dundun-dundun…
