I'm gonna venture out of my little hiding hole and tell you guys a little bit more about myself. As you may have read in my first blog here, I am a business owner, and have been for ten years now. WHAT KIND of business I own is what will keep my blog full of crazy, interesting shit. And lots of it.
I own a hair salon.
A really nice, contemporary salon in an upscale area. Now I'm sure you all know that people tell all kinds of crap to their hairstylists, I will not break the "Hairstylist Oath" and tell other peoples dirty little secrets. Unless they are REAL juicy.
I went into work today to check on my peeps. To make sure they have enough color and shampoo and all the other crap they need to do their job. I just so happened to answer the phone and an older lady wanted to get a haircut today with someone who is really good (duh, they all are) and that will be patient with her and focus on "cutting hair and not running their mouth" as she so eloquently put it. Alright, let's stop right there.
I guess this was supposed to be my "sign" that this lady was batshit crazy. But honestly, people say things like that all the time and we hairstylists view it as a challenge to make that person happy, no matter what. My peeps are really really good at what they do, and usually it works out great and the customer becomes a regular. NOT THIS TIME!
I'm walking around, blah blahing it up with all these customers that I know, doing my "duty" as the owner to entertain them and ever so slightly kiss their ass. I see an older lady with some FUCKED UP HAIR and two duckbill clips holding the sides back. I instantly knew that this is the lady.
This is a duckbill clip. You don't
wear this shit like a barrette in your hair people!
I had scheduled her with a newbie who is very patient, thorough, talented as shit. And preggo.
The lady sits down. She starts bitching about the directions I gave her to get to the salon. Which were absolutely accurate and I gave them to her twice. She whips out a curling iron from her purse and plugs that thing into the outlet and turns it on. She gives the same boring speech to Preggo as she did me, about no one giving her what she wants and Preggo asks her what exactly that is. This is when the Crazy Motherfucker came out.
She wants her HAIR CUT. She wants it CUT, blown dry, curling ironed and when Preggo is done, she wants her hair to land here (as she points to a place THREE INCHES LONGER than her fucking hair!!!)
MMMk. Preggo is stunned. Doesn't even say anything because I'm sure she is either holding back laughter or thinking to herself You have got to be kidding me!
The lady then asks to see Preggo's scissors. Preggo says no. The lady DEMANDS them while shouting "What's wrong with all of you people? Why can't I ever get anyone to do my hair that understands what I want?" So funny enough, even though we hairstylists practically take a VOW to never let customers touch our tools, Preggo hands her the scissors. The lady wants to show her how she wants her to hold the scissors to cut her hair. Preggo quickly takes them back and the lady gets SUPER pissed off and says, "If you aren't going to let me show you what I want then maybe I should leave" And all those hormones inside of sweet, quiet Preggo forced her to say, "I THINK YOU SHOULD!" So, in a blaze of pure craziness, old lady gets up, grabs her curling iron and heads to the door, all the while bitching and griping about how she doesn't understand why no one can cut her hair right and what is wrong with everyone that cuts hair around here, blah blah blah...
Now, normally I would have stepped in, put on my big girl panties, and taken care of this in my normal ultra professional manner. But I was indisposed and was not able to do a damn thing to intervene. However, it would have ended the same I'm afraid. I would have said to her that it was clear that we weren't going to be able to make her happy, and that I could recommend another salon she could try instead of using us. Then I would have sent her over to my greatest competitor to TOTALLY fuck with them. Mwahahaha.
And that my peeps, is the first and certainly not the last encounter with a...