The answer has come in the last few weeks, as I decided that getting about six inches of my almost waist-length hair cut off would be great. Taking care of it has become a pain, and the ends were fried from all those years of bleaching.
So today, I was happy to get to the salon. I told the lady to cut six inches off, and touch up the layers, figuring I'd still have lots of length, but I'd get rid of the nasty ends, and it would be so much easier to wash, comb and style.
I even showed her, with my hands, what I thought six inches should look like.
No problem, right? The hairdresser took me to the sink to wash my hair, and we walked back to her station, where she combed it out, then pulled out her scissors, and...
Chopped off TEN inches.
I stared at the mirror, unable to comprehend what was happening.
She kept merrily trimming, shortening it even more. I just sat there like a moron, wanting to cry. There wasn't much I could do now.
She finally started to blow-dry it, and I reached up and said, shakily, "It's...it's really short."
She insisted she did what I told her to do, cutting six inches off. I said, "No...no, that's more than six inches."
"Well, the bad stuff is gone!" She was smiling reassuringly at my bleak face in the mirror. I wasn't drinking her Kool-Aid.
I was getting a little angry, actually.
Finally, she picked up some of my discarded hair and showed me. "See? Six inches!"
"That's...a lot...more...than...six...inches..." I said in a measured tone. She made some half-hearted protests about it being six inches and I just stared at her and said, "Whatever."
She started to style it. "No, please, this is fine. I'm just going home." She took the cape off and I fingered my hair, which was almost to my waist and now just brushes my shoulder blades.
I was close to tears, incredibly angry, and I just wanted to get the hell out of there, never to return. (For the record, the salon is Papillion Salon in Lincoln, CA, if you're looking to avoid having this happen to you.) I said to her, "I just hope I can still wear it in a ponytail when I work out." I took my scrunchie out of my purse and put it in a messy ponytail (after she had blown it dry, which was probably rude but I wanted her to know I was unhappy so maybe, in future, she won't do this to someone else) before paying her.
And here's the thing--it's a good cut. It looks great. Mom loves it. Dad was complimentary. My duck lady friends think it looks adorable.
But I'm shell-shocked. I wanted six inches cut off. Not ten (more, actually, once you factor in the additional trimming she did after quickly lopping off that initial ten inches).
Yes, it's cute. Yes, it will grow--and quickly because of my good nutrition and frequent exercise. But I'm so angry that someone can blatantly go against a customer's wishes and then act like it's what I asked for.
Anyway, for the record:
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| That's how long it is all around. And yes, I was pissed when I took this picture. |
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| Yeah, more than six inches. |
Anyway, yes, it's a cute cut, blah, blah, blah. I can wear it in a ponytail without needing seventeen clips to hold it in place, which is good news for running and working out. I'm still a little angry, though. And I will NOT go back to this woman, if this is how she treats customers.
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