“I Won’t Fix What They do to You”

I’m usually good at planning ahead. I keep a tidy calendar. I try to arrive on time and I call if I’m going to be late. One thing I’m not good at is scheduling haircuts. I tend to wait until I need one immediately and then I can’t get an appointment.

I called Cloud 9 Salon (which I highly recommend). My stylist, Amber, is quite popular, so of course I couldn’t get in immediately.

I tapped my foot. I’m impatient and impulsive. These are dangerous qualities to mix when you’re dealing with hair.

I drove the 15 minutes to Target and I bought hair-cutting scissors. I came home, sat down at my computer, went to www.eHow.com and I searched for “How to cut my bangs.” (Dangerous mix, remember?)

There was a video!

I learned how to cut my bangs that day. I committed and sliced. They looked pretty good. However, the second self-haircut was a different story. After that one, I needed professional help.

Again, I couldn’t get in to see Amber as soon as I wanted. I panicked.

I picked up the phone and called a nearby salon. I had never been there but I have a friend who had. I called and got in within the hour. (Maybe that should have been my first sign.)

I flashed back to when I met Amber. It was seven years ago. Since then she had seen me through bangs, growing out bangs, layering, long hair, short hair, highlights and dye.

One day early on, with scissors in hand, she laughed with an evil tone.

“If you ever cheat on me…I will not fix what they do to you.”

Those words echoed in my head so many times. The time I was in Scottsdale at Kindra’s house and we were all going to get highlights. I had to say no. The time I was in Cavalier, getting my hair done for a wedding – I had to make it clear that there was to be no cutting of any kind.

Amber’s words played through my head as I walked into a quaint little salon. I got along with the hairstylist just fine. I asked her to clean up my bangs, she offered to layer my hair and I thought we had an agreement.

Later that day I walked by a mirror and I gasped. I reached up to my left temple and I picked up a huge section of my bangs that was an inch longer than the rest of them. My hair had been butchered. Ironically, I was cutting it better myself.

Haircuts are routine. Millions are conducted every day, but no one talks about the risks, the bad haircuts, the “professionals” who have no business wielding scissors and a flat iron.

I asked my friend about this particular stylist afterward and she said quietly, “Oh, yeah, she has some trouble seeing sometimes.”

Ugh.

I put on a baseball cap and I called Cloud 9 right away. It was Saturday, Amber could see me Tuesday night at 6 p.m. Victory!

—-

The appointment had finally arrived. Amber was in a great mood. She was laughing, she offered me coffee and she chatted. I didn’t hear much of what she had to say at first. She offered me a seat.

I approached her chair with hesitation.

I had to tell her.

I clutched my purse tighter.

“Amber…I have something to tell you.”

She looked a little freaked out.

I told her everything. About eHow, about my own scissors and about the butchering I received.

Instead of reacting with rage or hostility, she extended sympathy and hospitality. She invited me to sit down and she took care of me. She cleaned up my layers and spiffed up my bangs.

I reminded her of the comment she made years ago about how she wouldn’t fix what they did to me. She laughed until she cried.

“Let that be a lesson to you!” she squeaked between laughs. She laughed so hard she was shaking, while holding on to scissors. Very sharp scissors.

Thank goodness she was laughing.