Hairdessers

Hairdressers

Yes, hairdressers. So much goes on in those shiny salons that we as people are too terrified to talk about... Well, the truth is about to come out!

The drama starts before you even get to the salon, when you feel obligated to do your hair beforehand, even though they're just going to wash it as soon as you get there. But you can't show up at a salon with crappy hair, because you just know there's going to be one smug little bitch with perfect hair who's going to give you that look. You know the one.

Then you arrive there and realise that most of the employees there have TERRIBLE hair. Not like slightly strange, or vaguely unattractive, I'm talking full on hideously bizarre. Great. You can’t do your own hair and you expect me to trust you with mine? Fantastic slick. No problem.

Then there's the traumatic process of having your hair washed. Everyone knows how torturous those basins are on your neck. You’d think they could make them a bit more comfortable. Clearly not. Then there's some random manhandling your hair and your head is banging up and down against the basin while they apply shampoo as violently as possible, preferably pulling your hair as many times as they can. And you’re just sitting there trying to hold your head still praying that it’s over soon.

Why, oh lord please tell me why, they always feel the need to dry inside your ears. Like you haven't already been emotionally scarred, now you're being raped? "GET YOUR FINGERS OUT OF MY EARS!" But you don't say that, you just smile and thank them as if you thoroughly enjoyed your ear-raping.

Then they tie your hair up in the towel in the most ridiculous turban style and parade you across the room like this, until you are finally seated and strangled with a black cloaky thing which is weighted down by some black heavy thing they put around your shoulders. You just know there's no going back now.

Then they offer you tea. It’s like, "Really? I can't move my arms under this effing cloak you've imprisoned me under, and I don't really want to be moving my head around while someone's cutting my hair. Besides, I think it’s a little late for hospitality, wouldn't u agree? I mean you've already stuck your fingers in my ears so I think we’re past common decencies.

All this and the actual haircut hasn't even begun yet!

All throughout the cut you ramble on with small talk, "lovely day for weather", "how's your cat?", "you've been arrested how many times??" While all you’re thinking is "OMG WAT ARE YOU DOING, HOLY CRAP THAT WAS A LOT OF HAIR! OMG WTF!"

They too make a point of brushing your hair as violently as they can manage; perhaps hoping to rip out half your hair so they have less to cut.

By the time it’s all over u couldn’t care less if you’re happy or not with the cut, you just want to get out of there as quickly as possible! So you smile and say "I love it! It’s fantastic! Ok bye see you next time!!" And hastily make your escape, promising yourself you’ll never ever return.

But once the shock has worn off, you do go back, you always go back.

Happy haircuts everyone!

It pisses me off.