Dear Hairdresser Man,
Hi there. I’m your 6:30 appointment from last night.
First let me thank you for being on time and not rolling your eyes at me when I walked in carrying my six-month-old baby. Sometimes your female coworkers have been less than understanding about that.
Secondly, a little background about me: I have hair salon paranoia. While I am convinced of the value of a more expensive haircut, I sometimes have panic attacks when considering an appointment. Why, you ask? I am a complete failure at the whole small-talk-in-the-chair thing. I am bad at small talk to begin with, and then the salon environment inserts small appliances and invasion of personal space into the mix and it’s all over for me. If we’ve already covered where you’re from, what you did before you did hair, and the fact that I don’t get my hair cut often enough because I have a lot of kids at home, where do we go from there? What questions are too personal? Should I try to continue talking while the blow dryer is running, or do I sound like I’m drunk because I’m trying to hear myself? I don’t know. I get sweaty palms just thinking about it.
So the fact that we were able to talk at length about baseball last night was AWESOME!
Sure, you’re a St. Louis Cardinals fan and you think Albert Pujols is a demi-god. I wasn’t going to argue with that, since (a) you had very sharp scissors near my ear and (b) it’s infinitely better than hearing someone blather on about how she wishes her boyfriend would commit. We covered the Designated Hitter controversy, how Manny is a clubhouse disease, and whether Dice-K lived up to the hype. Are you kidding me?
Then I found out you were thinking about becoming an actor before you went to hair school (Is that what they call it? –Probably not. Cosmetology school? — Better.). And your favorite pieces to perform were….SHAKESPEARE. Oh cry me a river, do we have to talk about The Bard? Really? I might faint with dizzy joy. What character did you play in King Lear again? Talk as much as you want about that, because at least you’re not telling me in hushed tones about how one of your coworkers wants you dead because you have superior hair.
When the baby started fussing, you were so kind as to let me hold her on my lap as you finished cutting. We discussed my Fear Of Bangs in a brief and pithy way, and you cut some long bangs/short layers to break me in to the idea.
And then it happened. You announced your Departure.
It was so casual, Hairdresser Man. You said, as you finished trimming the front, “Oh, in case you were going to rebook tonight, I should tell you that I’m leaving. I’m moving to D.C. in two weeks.”
You can’t do that, Hairdresser Man! You don’t understand! This is the best haircut experience I’ve had in YEARS!
Don’t make me go back to gossipy boyfriend talk. You can’t make me! I won’t do it!
Just take your scissors and stab me through the heart, Hairdresser Man.