I got a haircut today. Not necessarily the haircut I wanted to get, but a haircut nonetheless. I also learned a very valuable lesson. Never let anybody touch your hair with a sharp object unless you know EXACTLY what the bitch plans to do with it.
So I walked in, told the stupid bitch my name, and sat in the chair. She pulled up my file and said "Your notes say you usually get a 3 all over, is that what you want today?" Now, as I'm not an overweight bitch who thinks she's a lot more attractive and fashionable than she really is, I didn't go to beauty school. I had no fucking idea what "3 all over" meant. But like a dipshit I trusted that the dumb skank knew what she was doing and that they wouldn't randomly put in my notes that I get haircuts I never ever get, so I said. "Sure, if that's what I normally get." Next thing I know, I had a fucking stripe down the middle of my fucking head.
I guess her first clue that something was wrong when I just said "Ummmmmmmmmm." After explaining to her that they have only ever used the razor on the back and around the ears before, the dumb bitch starts to get that something has gone horribly, horribly wrong. To her, since it said in my notes that I always get a "3 all over" I must be mistaken in what kind of haircut I always get. Since, you know, it isn't like I would have any fucking idea what my own fucking hair looks like. She even tried to convince me that she remembers me from a previous visit and remembers me getting a razor cut, which is utter bullshit because I had never seen the bitch and her malodorous vagina in my entire life.
See, I could live with it just being a miscommunication. I agreed with a "3 all over" because I trusted that it actually was what I get every time, so it really wasn't her fault that some incompetent chucklehead fucked up their notes on me. Or maybe I'm not a good tipper and this was the previous girl's revenge, I don't know. But the point is, I could live with it being a mistake and just leaving it at that. But when the stupid bitch argued with me to try and convince me that I don't know what the fuck my hair looks like, that's when I got pissed off. At this point the manager came over and at least she quickly realized that the notes in the computer must have been wrong, that I probably would know what haircut I get. And that's when the dumb skank started crying, because at that point I still had a fucking stripe down the middle of my head so there was nothing to do but use the same razor setting the rest of the way and give me a buzzcut. Yeah, a fucking buzzcut.
So after finishing the worst haircut I have ever had the bitch said "Well I know it isn't what you wanted, but it looks good." Now don't get me wrong. Buzzcuts are very fashionable and I would be glad to have one. If I were in the Army. Or 12. Or even a sexual predator. But unfortunately, I am none of those, so it looks fucking stupid and her attempt at patronizing me to make me feel better about how ridiculous I look just pissed me off even more. So I told her to shut the fuck up, she started crying, and I walked out. So now I have a couple months to look forward to of looking stupid and having people try to rub my head and call me Fuzzy. Fucking awesome.