Hell is the hairdressers

Is it just me who hates the hairdressers? I fear it may be, because whenever I go in there all the other women seem to be having a ball, while I awkwardly stumble about trying not to flick people with my recently washed hair.

As you may have guessed, today I went to the hairdressers, and it was a far from pleasant experience.

First of course, I had to phone them to make an appointment, which is a trauma in itself. I think it must also only be me who fears using phones, though it might also extend to the rest of the internet generation. Anyway, having carefully written down on a piece of paper vital information I might need (AKA how to start the conversation: Hello, I was wondering if you have any appointments free for today or tomorrow?); and having checked I couldn’t just make an appointment online, I called them up. Having hung up after it had rung twice because I got scared, my second attempt was more successful  and I stammered through the exchange, my mouth going dry when they asked me what treatment I wanted. Luckily the woman on the other end of the phone seemed to sense the terror in my silence, and kindly asked ‘just a wash and cut’? Though to be honest, I would have agreed to anything she had said at that point, even if it was ‘a full head shave?’.

Then the actual hairdressers.

It actually all started out quite well, except the small hiccup when I couldn’t figure out how to shut the door behind me again. I managed to nervously communicate what I wanted done, and then plodded over to the washing basins, being very careful not to bash my head against the sink. Then began the idle chatter. I detest idle chatter, and so while she chattered away about holidays and other stereotypical hairdresser conversations, I considered whether anyone had ever created a mute hairdressers. I think its a great idea personally, their slogan could be ‘We cut your hair in comfortable silence’. She also decided to ask me what hair products I normally use, meaning I had to blurt out the first name which came to my head (L’oreal), despite the fact that I just grab whichever shampoo is cheapest in Tesco at the time of my purchase.

Anyway, once my hair was washed she left me sitting with my head in the sink with conditioner in my hair for a few minutes. While I understand the logic of this, and it is what I do at home, those chairs are not the most comfortable, and I was aware that everyone walking past must have been able to see up my nose. So naturally I was relieved when she returned to wash it out because my neck was starting to really ache. Sadly the ordeal wasn’t quite over, because then she started giving me a weird head massage thing…luckily it only lasted a few minutes, and then I got the joys of having my hair cut.

Now I can practically hear you cry: “what else can possibly go wrong?!” or rather “what other minor things can you possibly complain about?”. Don’t you worry my friends, there’s plenty more.

Now those who know me in ‘real life’ (always makes me laugh that phrase, what is the internet, imaginary?!) know that I am short. I haven’t grown (vertically) since I was 12. I kid you not. This of course led to the poor hairdresser having to bump my chair up a million times once I had sat down, which I fear was embarrassing for both of us.

Anyway, most times when I have my hair cut they don’t wash it very carefully, by which I mean they let it get very tangled. Now this is a major problem for me, as my hair is really curly, meaning many a hair dresser has found him/herself unable to then get a brush through it.

Luckily my hairdresser this time (I don’t go enough to have a regular hairdresser, and I always ask for the graduates because they are cheaper) has curly hair herself, so was careful. And, I hate to admit it, but leaving the conditioner in probably did help. So I was really happy because that is normally the worst part of the whole hair-cutting experience.

Sadly, I was wrong. A few weeks ago I got the top of my ear pierced, and at the weekend I changed the earing to a small hoop. I’m sure you all know where I’m going with this. Comb + hoop = pain. It really was my own fault for not switching it before going really, but then I had to lie and say it was fine, it hadn’t hurt at all, when in reality it was really stinging.  It also meant when I got home I had to steralise a new earing (using my 4 for £1 lighter from poundland) and kind of re-pierce my ear, because the earing was going in the front hole, but not coming out of the back. I have a bad feeling its going to get infected.

Anyway, now in pain, I was kindly offered a drink. This really annoys me, why on earth would I ask for a cuppa when obviously what is going to happen is that hair is going to fall in it?! Anyway, the worst now over, I quietly sat and endured the ‘head forward’, ‘head backwards’ ‘face this way’ commands. I was also momentarily traumatized hen I saw what they did with the swept up hair. I always presumed they would whack out a dustpan and brush and put it all in a bin somewhere, but in a far creepier turn of events, the girl just brushed it all into a downstairs cupboard to join what I presume was the rest of the day’s hair cuttings. I really hope at the end of the day they throw it all away!

Anyway, having nodded and smiled and said the word ‘lovely!’ in a far too enthusiastic voice when shown the back of my head, I was finally free to leave. The receptionist helped me into my jacket, meaning naturally I fumbled for the arm holes while smiling apologetically. She then asked me if I wanted to book another appointment as if she hadn’t noticed how short I had had it cut, which was specifically so that I wouldn’t have to return for a very long time!

Then to complete my day, I got caught in a thunderstorm, hail and all, turning my newly cut hair into a wet matted mass around my head.

Let me know if you too find the hairdressers traumatizing, or if you are one of the women (or men) who seem to be having  a ball in there. Until next time folks x


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