So, let's talk about my mullet.
For my regular readers, you know that I got a really bad haircut not too long ago. It was sortof Dog the Bounty Hunter-esque minus the exposed chest hair and assault rifles.
Plus it was uneven. One side was much more mulletrific than the other side.
Whenever I turn my head, it was like a different person. Right side - Dog. Left side - Cindy Crawford.
And in no way useful.
So, after much deliberation and tearful restylings in front of the bathroom mirror, I went to get it fixed.
In my head I was really excited about going back to the original cutter and making a huge scene about how this was the worst haircut I've ever had and she is a worthless human being who should be shaved in public as punishment. Of course, when I really thought about it, it seemed like a bad idea. Why piss off someone and then hand them scissors?
Not a good plan.
So, I went to a different place.
I walked in and gave the girl my name. The girl who just so happened to have the haircut I was supposed to have.
She told me it would be 20 minutes or so. Whatever. I sit and tweet and wait.
2 guys come in and sign in.
Those same 2 guys get called ahead of me.
Okay. Maybe they had appointments.
Then the receptionist tells someone on the phone that they do not make appointments.
I tweet angry stuff about the contents of their candy jar.
And I wait. Because I am patient. And I don't want to make a scene to the scissor wielders until it becomes absolutely necessary.
Then, 3 more people come in and sign in.
I'm still waiting.
Then one girl who came in after me gets called. Then the receptionist asks me if I'm Joyce and starts to call Joyce.
Then I get up.
I point to my name on the sheet and ask wtf fuck is up because I've just seen three scumbags get called ahead of me when they clearly came in after me and does she want to see the time of my tweets as proof because I'll damn well show them to her.
She apologizes and takes me back.
SHE takes me back.
Oh hell. I think I just provoked the scissor wielder.
I put on my best smile and make nice while she puts the thing around my neck. Tightly.
I like her instantly because she can see the mullettastic crapness that is my haircut and she feels sorry for me. I almost cry because she just gets it. No one should have to live with hair this bad. (tear)
I even tell her that the other girl with the black and white top has the haircut I'm supposed to have. She looks shocked. "Like that?" she says as she points to the girl with the orange mohawk in the black and white top.
"No, that one" I say, pointing to the skinny bitch with my gorgeous haircut.
Moving on, she proceeds to repair the mullety mayhem that is my hair. As she's cutting, I try to make small talk:
Me: Wow, are you guys always this busy?
Scissor Wielder: No, it's the holiday.
Me: (Easter = haircuts? Who knew?) Oh. I haven't been here in a while. My fiance comes here so I have to go somewhere else.
SW: (cocking her eye in confusion) ?
Me: Oh. This is kind of his place, so he banned me from coming here. (rolling my eyes to emphasize the sarcasm and jokiness of my comment)
SW: He banned you? (checking my body for bruises and other signs of battering and wondering if she should be calling the police)
Me: Oh, you know. He's just silly (deciding not to go into detail about how likes to think he's getting away with something because he flirts with his cutters and then tells me how they had their boobs in his face because she probably wouldn't get it).
SW: (tumbleweeds and silence)
Apparently, she has no sense of humor.
Another red flag.
So, I keep my mouth shut and just watch her cut. Which starts to alarm me somewhat.
I'm 99.9% sure she is stoned out of her mind. As she is lifting sections of my hair, it's as if she is lifting rainbows with her fingers. She looks like she's at a rave. She is mesmerized by every single strand. Stroking it and caressing it and holding it up like it's the most amazing thing she's ever seen. She's freakin baked!
She's taking big piles of my hair and pushing it up onto my head like she's trying to sculpt something. You know how you form bath bubbles into stuff? That's what she's doing with my hair.
Wait, if she's seeing freaking rainbows in my hair, wtf is she seeing when she's cutting?
Probably best to leave that unexplored.
She's already whacked enough. Why push it?
Scissor Wielder is baked to a crisp.
Thank God I have experience with psychotic patients. I just keep my cool. Don't provoke her. Don't challenge her delusions. Don't make any sudden movements.
Just let her finish my cut and then head for the door.
I made it out of there in one piece, red flags and all.
Baked or not, she did a great job on my hair. The mullet is no more!
I'm totally going back to her next time.
Even though she's a nutjob. She's a nutjob with skills.
I look hot.
Once I cover the grays, it'll be even hotter.