Choppy Choppy

It's time for me to get a hair cut. It's been time for over a month now, but I've been putting it off. I've only lived in this town for 8 months, and only gotten one haircut so far. I don't believe i am exaggerating when I say I GOT MUGGED!

It was a genuine mistake, I went to what looked like a very high-end salon. Locally owned in my neighborhood, so I could pat myself on the back for supporting the local economy. But i should have known better when they walked up holding a bottle of lotion and offered me a hand massage (for anything below my scalp, i have a very strict NO TOUCHY policy).

I walk in with hair past my shoulders, and tell her I want a bob. Nothing too drastic though, I want the hair to end below my chin. Anything higher would have been a gigantic red arrow to my double chin (who i have named Chauncey, but i digress).

She makes the expected fake: "Ooo, that sounds so cuuute!" and we begin.

she is happily hacking away at the back of my head, and I am seeing gigantic 5 inch locks falling to the floor.

I inhale deeply and calm myself. "no big deal," i think "it's been awhile since I've gotten a cut and there was a lot to chop off".

She then heads towards the front of me where Chauncey and I are waiting expectantly. She takes one cut (ONE), and pauses looking at my face...

Houston we have a problem, we have just gone from 5 inch pieces to well-over 8 inch locks. (and if you don't already know, a bob should be longer in the front than the back).

She finishes her medieval torture on my front end and realizes her mistake...

Instead of admitting or even acknowledging any wrong doing, she goes and REcuts the back of my hair!!! The haircut was at least 3 inches shorter than the length we had discussed.
It was like two BIG, GIANT, red arrows pointing at chauncey about as subtly as a vegas casino sign.

In total, my hair was about 9 inches shorter than when i had arrived. this.was.NOT.the.plan.
Honestly, if i had wanted it that short, i would have gone for the whole 10inches so i could donate it to locks of love (which I have in the past, and had planned to again someday, but not at that exact moment).

By the end, i think even she felt bad for what she had done to me, but not wanting to admit her mistake (and risk losing the commission) she instead made me listen to her drone on and on about hair products on sale. Not only did she still charge me, but had the gall to send me a thankyou postcard the next day (which john cleverly hid to avoid another tantrum)!

I left there as quick as I could and followed-up my tress disaster with a 10minute crying fest and lots of drinking. I tried to figure out a way to call in sick to work for about 2 months, but couldn't come up with one (temporary leprosy isn't as believable and one might think).

Ever since then, i've been too scared to find another salon. I've been living with this awful haircut since december (which admittedly looks better now that it's grown-out significiantly, but still, it's time to get all evidence of it chopped off).

That's the bitch about moving somewhere new, it takes so long to find your new hairdresser. And if there's one thing I don't like trial and error on, it's my head.

By the way, most hair dressers LOVE me. I have thick, shiny, red hair. I love to try totally different styles about twice a year (i.e. not boring), and I tip well. I know there is someone out there for me... There should be a match.com for hairdressers and potential clients.