"In My Opinion . . ."
Aug. 31, 1999
For at least 15 years I have been going to the same salon for my
haircuts. During those years my original hairdresser took over
the business. She modernized the shop and updated the methods. All
of these changes came with a price, but I gladly paid the extra
money because I always got a good haircut.
Several years ago, after a succession of wonderful but wandering stylists, I latched on to the cream of the crop: a fantastically flamboyant young man who worked miracles with my naturally curly, home-dyed hair. Through the years I learned of his loves and losses, his dreams and his dares. Going to him was an experience, an adventure, a trip. It was well-worth the rising bucks.
What does one do, then, when a good hairdresser goes bad? My favorite stylist frankly failed me the last two times out, and he did so because he was morose. He was in a blue funk. He seemed to be downright petulant the last time he cut my hair, and I knew it had nothing to do with me.
Try as I might, I couldn't seem to get him to open up. Questions that normally caused a flood of chatter from him brought only obligatory, monosyllabic responses. I could not guess why he was so uninterested in his work, but my hair bore the brunt of it. Within 20 minutes I was done and out, and once the styling goop washed out I could see my haircut was a dismal failure.
I could have gone back and asked, "What's up, bubba? Why the long face and the rotten cut?" But I feared that would only set him off in a real snit (he being the overly sensitive type). I could have called the owner (a friend since our daughters were in kindergarten together) and asked her if my young stylist was going through a phase, but that too might have triggered hurt feelings. So I did the only thing I could do: I went elsewhere for my next haircut.
Yes, I committed "hairesy." I marched into the first shop that looked like it wasn't out of the 50s and asked if someone was free to cut my hair. 45 minutes later I walked out with a great cut that cost $10 less than before. I felt guilty but good and ready to face my new classes.
I'm not sure how to handle the future. Once before, when I simply didn't get a haircut for several months, my sweet stylist actually called me up to find out why I hadn't been in. Also, my son goes to that shop to get his hair cut. He might be grilled.
It pains me to cheat on my stylist. I feel like a two-timer, but when it boils down to it, I have to live with my hair every day. My stylist I see 5 or 6 times a year. Call me a well-coifed louse.
