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Running with Scissors

Well I've had better weeks. I am finding that I am very easily overwhelmed lately. And when I get overwhelmed, I cry. And I don't mean a cute little sniffle that is easily stifled. I mean an ugly cry that shudders through my entire body. The type of cry that makes you sweat and choke on your snot.


Is that too much information? Probably.


Anyways, I'm not sure exactly why I am so easily set off. A snide comment is made at work and I cry. The dog looks at me all cute and I cry. We run out of parmesan cheese and I cry. Crying then spikes my anxiety level, and being anxious throws my obsessive thoughts into overdrive. I feel like when this happens, the little man in my brain that runs things just throws his clipboard into the air and storms out of the operation center. A la 'fuck this shit'. And papers are scattered everywhere.


Is it weird that I envision a man running the operation center in my brain? Probably. It's also probably odd that I think of my brain having an operations center with multiple big screens and filing cabinets and desks.... Yep even in reading that back, it seems odd.


But I decided that this week I was going to take control and make an effort to make myself happy. You know.... without eating cheeseburgers. Cheeseburgers are usually my go to move when I am overwhelmed or upset. But that's an 'unhealthy' coping mechanism blah blah BLAH. And I just bought new jeans in a smaller size. So I can't afford a cheeseburger breakdown right now.


So what could I do to bring some joy into my life? A haircut! My split ends had been driving me crazy for the better part of a few months. And is there anything better than having your hair washed? Not much. A soothing scalp massage, warm water, yummy smelling conditioner.... it's heavenly. Just what the doctor ordered. So I called my hair dresser to see when she could squeeze me in for a quick cut. Unfortunately she is booking into NOVEMBER! So I hung up the phone and after I finished crying for the fourth time that day (it was only noon), I made the decision that I needed this. And if that meant going to a different hair stylist I would.


I whipped out "the google" and started making calls to the local shops, praying that someone would have time to see me. All of the overtly cheery receptionist at all 12 shops I called informed me, regrettably, that they had nothing available. I almost through in the towel and was going to chuck my phone across the room when I had a thought.


Now please remember that I have been spoiled for haircuts since I was a child. I have only ever been to independent shops, where the stylists have years of experience. I'm a hair snob. Deal with it. But, your girl was desperate. And in a moment of weakness I made a judgement call. I *gulp* called a chain establishment (that for legal purposes shall remain nameless).


Oh heck I'll give you a hint. Regardless of the name.... it was definitely my LAST choice.


I called and weakly asked for a haircut, expecting an immediate no. But to my surprise the lovely receptionist told me they just had cancellation and there was an opening that afternoon. I couldn't believe my luck. Perfect, I told her. I'll be there.


My first clue that this was a bad idea, should have been when I walked in the door and there was no seating. Strange, I thought. But hey, we're still in a pandemic. Maybe it has something to do with that.


After standing for 20 minutes inside the door with three other people, I was called back. I headed towards the sink for the heavenly hair washing I had been anticipating all day. "No!" the receptionist shouted from the front. "Go to the last chair on the left".


Odd, I thought. But hey. This is a chain spot, and I didn't specify that I wanted my hair washed. I was a little disappointed and felt the irrational tears welling up. But I beat them down with all my will and resigned myself to the fact that the stylist would just wet down my hair with spray bottle before she cut it.


The stylist who came up to my chair immediately began to tell me about her 'horrific' day as she ran her hands through my hair and began inspecting. She told me that I should have straightened my hair before I came in because it was going to be difficult for her to cut it in it's natural wavy state. Before I could respond she took a big snip out of my DRY hair, and said "I assume we are cutting off all this ugly sun damage and the split ends?"


I wanted to ask if by 'sun damage' she meant the colour that I had PAID for a year prior but hadn't been able to get INTO A SALON TO HAVE REDONE BECAUSE COVID. But I didn't. I held my cool. We were in it now, a massive chunk had been cut out.


I nodded my head.


As she continued to hack away at my dry hair, I made eye contact with myself in the mirror and could see the horror in my face. But the stylist didn't seem to notice. And she also felt that I appeared to be the type of person who would agree with her perspective of the world. And she let me hear all of it.


Stylist: I am getting married in a month and this is bullshit. All this COVID stuff. It's not real anyway. What kind of sheep would agree to put a vaccine in their body?


My grip immediately tightened around the seat cushion beneath me. This lady can't be serious?


Stylist: Like please. A virus? That the whole world is getting? Sure. Like maybe in the movies, but not in real life. Can you hold this piece of frizzy hair out of my way? Great, thanks. Anyway, my wedding venue told me that everyone would have to be vaccinated to come. So you're saying I can't come to my own wedding? Unbelievable.

Me: You don't believe in vaccinations?

Stylist: No. They like, give you ADHD or something.

My Brain: Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.


Now let me be clear. Everyone is entitled to an opinion. Everyone is entitled to make the choice that is right for them. But really.... venting to someone you don't know (about a highly sensitive topic), who also happens to be a nurse, while you are inches away from my face? What was I gonna do other than say, "Uh huh" or "Wow".... bitch is hacking away at my DRY hair and had scissors an inch away from my throat.


FINALLY she finished and took the cape off of me. To say I looked ridiculous was an understatement. Do you know what happens when you run your hands through wavy hair over and over and over again on a hot humid day in a salon without working AC? It turns into a ball of frizz and heartbreak.


As I went to get up, the stylist must have noticed that my hair looked like two rats had just made the nasty in it and she said, "Oh that's not pretty" (not even kidding) "Let me try something".


She then took her squirt bottle and sprayed down the outer layer of my head. "That's as good as it's gonna get love. You should go home and like straighten it or something".


So with as much poise as I could muster I walked out of that salon with knotted, frizzy, damp hair and went to sit in my car. I reflected on my day. Suddenly crying over parmesan cheese didn't seem so bad. And I said a silent prayer that that stylist would have a mishap with straightener and burn ha;f her hair off. Cause I'm petty like that.


-Kay


P.S. When I got home, Scott looked at me and froze. He didn't say anything. Just stared for a long moment. When he could finally tear his eyes away from my hair and looked into my eyes he said, "I am so so sorry.... But as soon as you told me where you were going, I knew you wouldn't be happy". So, I would like to take this opportunity and public forum to thank Scott for his support during that difficult time.






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