one of those rare weekends, where there were no shows on my calendar, no work to be at the office for, no shopping to do, and a crap load of pictures waiting to be seen. so i had set up an appointment to lop my hair off, or probably just nip the ends, and color it to a deep red, sort of like the color of this car.
i had only found a new hair stylist after a year of not going, and the previous one ghosted from the profession. true, i don't go very often, but this last one had already switched salons, and kept me updated, so i thought i'd found a good one. even if i had to drive out to brea.
when i called thursday for an appointment today, i thought the phone breaking up was the only issue in understanding what i needed done. set it for noon, so i could sleep in. also because they're in a freakin' small parking lot with a damn coffee drive-thru, so early morning means no parking.
i went a bit early, so i could grab some lunch on the way. not enough time, so i stopped at a subway. bad idea. got there just before a pack of soccer kids showed up. looked like there had already been a food fight there before i arrived. all the tables were fairly dirty, with drips of mustard, mayo, or crinkles of lettuce on the table or seat.
i suppose i should have been more paranoid about the bins of meats looking a little too "sweaty," and cheese looking a little too dali, but i went ahead and ordered. found a relatively clean corner of a four-person table, and took a few bites of the sandwich. they'd overloaded on the mustard, and it squirted out the other end. it hit the table, and not my clothes, so whatevs. realized i wasn't that hungry, at least for a subway sandwich, and randomly wondered why i hadn't just searched for a jersey mike's. i threw the food away, and headed to my appointment.
found a decent parking space in the front corner, the caffeine rush over at the coffee shop.
entering the salon, the young nymphette at the front desk greeted me and asked how she could help me. "i have an appointment with fiona*." she looked at me blankly, like "wha?" i wondered if her head would whistle if you blew in her ear.
she said, "fiona* was no longer with the salon. what was my phone number, it wasn't in the computer, or they would have called to let me know..." "how long has she been gone," i asked. another stylist came over to see what was going on, and said, "about a week, week and a half, but they had another stylist that could help me."
i asked why, since i had only booked the appointment two days before, the bimbette answering the phone didn't mention it, and also that i had given her my number at the time, so i called b.s. on not having the number in the system.
anyway, they had scheduled me with someone for a haircut. i met her assistant, who seated me in the chair, and brought over the straightjacket, i mean the black gown to keep the mess off your clothes. then the stylist is there, with some high falutin' name that no one can pronounce, and profusely apologizing for the whole mix up, but trying to give me confidence that everyone in the salon were artists.
so, i started to tell her that i usually have fiona* color my hair red, and then i just wanted the ends cut. i never decide to chop it short or keep it long until i'm actually in the chair. depends entirely on my mood at the time. apparently, my subconscious wants to keep it. still curious how long it will get.
my mom has a picture my brother took of me when i was maybe a freshman in college, and he was taking a class in high school. i'm looking over my shoulder, so cliche. it shows how long my hair was then. i'm still about four or five inches short of that now. i digress.
the unpronouncably named stylist, flustered, says they had only booked enough time for a haircut, and they were all busy. almost thought she was going to offer up another stylist for the color, but no, they were all busy. she offered to just do the haircut, and book a color at another time.
reiterating that i don't usually have free time to do this, much less the fact i hate dealing with hair stylists in the first place. i said i preferred to get both done at the same time, and i only wanted a trim, not a cut. asked if she wanted to reschedule several times, and i don't know if she wasn't hearing me or just not paying attention, but i managed to just leave with nothing to show for it, but a bad lunch and a quarter tank of gas less.
so i'm just pissed, but not pissed. my hair is as untamed as it would have been, just not red, which was what i wanted more than the trim. and i need to find another stylist, so it may be a while.
and then my stomach started to rumble in an unwelcome sort of way, so i quickly sped directly home to deal with the aftermath of that sandwich. it all comes out in the end.
*names have been changed to protect the innocent.