The Salon Doesn’t Make The Cut, Part 2

(I go to my regular place to get my hair cut, and maybe my beard trimmed. Do bear in mind that I’m a guy in his 20s with a very straightforward haircut; it’s as vanilla as it gets. It’s also worth noting I’m on pretty good terms with the girl usually working there, but this time I see a rather sour-looking older woman.)

Me: “Hi, are you busy or can you fit me in?”

(She gives me the go-ahead. I quickly explain what I need done and the haircut begins. All seems to be in order until I notice my hair is starting to get a weird mohawk shape.)

Me: *in a casual, cheery tone* “Hey, sorry, could you please take that off the top there so it’s level? Also, just a reminder that I don’t like bangs, so those would need to be removed.”

Hairdresser: “Oh, no, I’m not doing that.”

Me: “What? “

Hairdresser: *rudely* “That’s stupid; I’m not giving a dumb haircut like that.”

(While I’m a very social and friendly guy, I also tend to have a short fuse when provoked. I feel myself getting mad, so I just stand up, take off the apron, and grab my coat.)

Hairdresser: “What are you doing?”

Me: *mad, but trying to maintain a civil tone* “I came in to pay to get my hair cut the way I like it. Whether you like my taste or not doesn’t really matter here; you can’t just refuse to do what I asked. Here’s the money, and bye.”

(She tried to stammer something, but I just went outside before she could finish, cooled off for a bit, then went to a new place I knew of about two minutes away. There were two girls around my age working there, and we all had a laugh when I told them why I’d seemed so pissed upon entering. They also actually did my hair the way I wanted them to. I’ve been their regular since.)

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The Salon Doesn’t Make The Cut