I walked into the salon and made my way to the counter. The beautician asks, “what can I do for you today?”
“I just need a haircut…” I reply as I’m thinking, can I get a Big Mac and Fries? WHAT DO YOU THINK I’M HERE FOR!? Sarcasm runs in the family, sorry not sorry.
“You’re over here,” she says very bluntly as she leads me to her chair.
You might think what happened next was due to our unfriendly introduction, but I’ve felt the tender loving care of this lady’s hands before. She proceeds to run the clippers back and forth over my head like she’s trying to buff out a scratch on her car. I am certain there’s a top speed for those things. I mean seriously, they can only cut so much hair at once! I could tell we were at warp speed when, instead of gently clipping my tender hairs, it began to violently rip them out of my skull.
As she continued to hack away, I began to wonder, why did I give this lady permission to touch me? Then I thought about the check in process. You punch in your name on a computer screen, select male or female (in case there’s any doubt), and then a screen pops up that asks you, which stylist do you prefer? You can either select one of them or click, Next Available.
I always click Next Available because I’m not really picky and I value my time. But I wouldn’t complain if they added an option for ANYBODY BUT THIS ONE!
Do Good || Be Strong || Fear Nothing