I am not a Cirque du Soliel performer. I do not hang 50 feet from the big top floor by my flaxen tresses. Neither am I in practice for that job. If you think you are training my follicles to become tougher and more resilient, I must politely request you KNOCK IT OFF.
If your hand gets caught in my hair, I would like to politely suggest that violently wriggling your fingers and pulling back like you’re trying to land a 900lb marlin is NOT the way to untangle yourself from the situation. As fond as you are of your hand, I am equally attached to my scalp.
If you find it hard to keep your hands under the hot/cold water you have running on my head, chances are the temperature is unpleasant for me as well. You do this for a living. My stylist tells you what product to apply. As far as I can tell, memorizing a pleasant temperature for water should be at the top of your relatively short “learn to do” list for this particular job.
I understand some towel drying may be in order at the end of my wash and rinse, but twisting my hair like you’re washing sheets for wounded Civil War soldiers is not the best way to wring out the water. This ‘sheet’ is attached to my ‘head.’
Once you have applied your unique brand of torture to my scalp, you cannot make it up to me by squeezing my neck for three seconds with all the force of a person checking a loaf of bread for freshness. That is not a massage, and it will not wipe away the horror I managed to survive to that point.
Your limp-wristed temple massage, where you poke your index finger into the side of my head and swirl, makes me feel like you’re motioning to the people across from me that I’m crazy. I don’t need a little circle dug into my forehead with your nail, thanks.
When the little conditioner bell goes off, I want to get the itchy stuff rinsed out of my hair, tout de suite. I don’t want to sit patiently while you finish the story about the look on your lover’s face when he woke up with your cat on his head. I already heard this story last time, identical, but for the name of the lover. So did the other hair washer. I know she’s laughing, but she’s just being polite.
Yes, yes… I know you’re only killing time while you train to become a hairdresser, but if you could have a modicum of pride in THIS job in the meantime, both myself and my hair would appreciate it.
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