I go into a new barbers to get my hair cut. They have a big sign up saying, “Cash preferred”, but the glass door also has a Visa and Mastercard logo on it. After my haircut, I am told my total and I get out my card.

Barber: “Oh, cash only.”

He points at the sign as if that makes his point.

Me: “That says, ‘Cash preferred’.”

Barber: “No, only cash.”

Me: “The sign doesn’t say cash only. It says, ‘Cash preferred’. That’s a preference, not a rule. I’m paying by card.”

Barber: “No, the card machine isn’t working.”

Me: “Then you should tell your customers that before we sit down, or put up a sign that says that. I don’t have cash on me.”

Barber: “It’s okay, leave your wallet here but take your card to the cash point. Come back with the cash.”

Me: “I am not leaving any of my items, especially my wallet, with you! You can send me out to get cash if you like, but I might not come back today… or ever. Up to you.”

Suddenly, the card machine was working. Sorry, my friend; take your tax-evasion schemes somewhere else!

I have had a very long day, so I’m not in the best of moods. I dyed a young customer’s hair blonde a few weeks ago, and she returns today, looking a bit upset.

Customer: “Something’s gone wrong with the dye job!”

Me: “It looks okay to me. What issue are you having with it?”

Customer: “But my hair always comes back the old color! Look at the top!”

Me: “Yes, it will do that as it grows out.”

Customer: “Can you do anything to it that will keep it blonde forever?”

Me: “Head over to the other side of downtown. There’s a big university there; they have a genomics lab. They’re more qualified than I am.”

Customer: *Totally oblivious* “Thanks!”

She heads for the door, getting out her phone.

Customer: “Genomics? That’s the name of the salon?” 

I ended up taking pity on her and calling her back to explain what genetics is and why we can’t solve her hair issues. I still don’t think she understood, but I managed to go home not feeling like a d**k. I’ll save that for the stupid customers who are ALSO badly behaved.

This is about a haircut that I got around 2019, and it still frustrates me. 

I have this habit of growing my hair out to try and do braids and other fancy things, getting sick and tired of how much my hair weighs, and chopping it all off into a pixie cut. This is something I’ve been doing since I was around ten years old, and at the time of this story, I was several years out from graduating college. 

Another thing about me that isn’t REALLY necessary to know but helps set the scene is that, at the time of this haircut, I had bleached my hair at home and it had gone poorly. As such, while I had relatively long hair — a couple of inches past my shoulders — it was unhealthy. I had several inches of roots growing in, and it felt like straw. 

With these things in mind, I went to the hair salon with my reference pictures to get my hair chopped into a pixie cut like I had so many times before, and even though I showed the salon lady my reference pictures — pictures of MYSELF with my desired haircut — she STILL tried to argue with me about how short to cut my hair!

Stylist: “Are you sure?” 

Yes! And here are over ten years of reference pictures OF ME to prove it! 

She did cut my hair how I wanted eventually, but it was so aggravating.

I want to get my hair cut in the next three days for a weekend wedding. My regular barber shop is a small mom-and-pop business just a five-minute walk from my house.

I walk there and learn — I CAN read the handwritten notice taped on the door — that the husband-and-wife team is on vacation and won’t be back for another week. Close by is a beauty salon. I want to get this task checked off of my wedding to-do list, so I walk there.

It is open. In the window is a large sign: “No Walk-Ins. By Appointment Only”. (Again, I CAN read signs.) Since the place is so close to my house, I decide to go in and make an appointment.

Inside, the place is empty except for a woman sitting in a salon chair and a man standing behind her, gently combing her hair. I quickly realize that I might have interrupted their “alone time together” when the woman in the chair, the stylist, sternly tells me:

Stylist: “No walk-ins. You need to make an appointment!”

Me: “Yes, I know… Can I make an appointment?”

She gets up out of the chair; she is not smiling. The man disappears into a back room.

Stylist: “You need to make an appointment first. But, since you are here, sit down.”

Me: “…”

Wanting to get this done, I sit down. As the stylist puts a protective cape around me, she says:

Stylist: “Next time, you need to make an appointment.”

Me: “…”

After ANOTHER reminder about making an appointment, we are almost done.

Stylist: “Would you like me to trim your eyebrows?”

Me: “Yes, please.”

After I pay my bill, she hands me her business card.

Stylist: “My name is [Stylist]. This is our work number. Next time, you need to call first and make an appointment.”

Me: “…” 

I tossed her card into the first trash bin I walked by. Not only was she repeatedly rude about the “No Walk-Ins” reminders, but she also charged me an extra $5 USD for the ten seconds it took her to trim my male eyebrows. (Pop always throws that service in for free! Like in the song ditty, “A Shave And A Haircut (And A Brow Trim)”.)

As anyone who works in a family salon will know, cutting the hair of a child, especially a toddler, can be a lot of work. They’re fussy, they cry, they move around a lot, and they really don’t want to be there. That’s fine, really; they’re kids, and they don’t know how to process this scary stranger coming at their head with sharp-looking objects.

Along with giving us all some training, our salon encourages toddlers to sit on their parent’s laps when having a haircut, so they can be a calming presence and soothe them when it gets a bit too much for them.

A mother walks in with her two-year-old son who looks a bit overdue for a haircut. It’s not that his hair is long; it’s just scruffy and all over the place. Like a pet going to the vet, this child has just realized where he is, and he DOES NOT LIKE IT. He immediately begins wailing and fighting to leave. The mother picks him up and just… hands him to me.

Customer: “It’s [Son] with an appointment for [time half an hour ago]. I’d like a four on the top and a high fade on the sides, please.”

Me: “Okay. Would you like to take a seat here? We can place him on your lap so that—”

Customer: “Oh, I’m fine over here, thanks!”

She then takes a seat in the waiting area and starts browsing her phone.

Left holding a wailing, squirming child, I carry him over to our special child seat that looks like a racing car — steering wheel and everything. No dice. I try several methods, such as telling him how handsome he will look with a haircut, playing some “Paw Patrol” on my phone, and offering a lollypop (with the mother’s permission… when I finally got her attention). Sadly, nothing works.

Me: “Ma’am, I am not able to cut your son’s hair when he is like this. I’ve found that when children are sat with their parent, they are much more consolable.”

Customer: “Oh, he’s just being fussy. Just make a start and he’ll calm down.”

She looks back down at her phone.

For clarity, we know what fussy children are like. They will cry and moan and try to make a scene, but they’re generally okay, especially with the parent there to calm them down. They might cry through the whole “ordeal”, but they’ll sit there and accept that the haircut is going to happen.

This is not that.

Me: “Ma’am, this is not being fussy. He is in a state of emotional distress, and he is physically blocking any attempt I am making at approaching him. It would be unsafe for him if I even attempted a haircut. Please find a way to console him or bring him back when he has calmed down.”

Customer: *Tuts* “I’m sure you can figure it out. Isn’t this your job?”

Me: “My job, ma’am, is to safely cut your son’s hair. It isn’t to physically restrain him and force a haircut on him while he is in a state of emotional distress. As his mother, you either need to find a way to make this all right with him or come back another time.”

Customer: “You’re a totally useless hairdresser!”

Me: “And you seem like a totally useless mother. I have your name and number from the appointment book. Are you going to calm down your son or do I need to call someone?”

She glares at me but finally puts down her phone. She picks up her distraught son and storms toward the exit, but not before turning back to me.

Customer: “I was about to pass a super hard level on Candy Crush! I hope you’re happy!” *Leaves*

Another customer who saw the whole thing comments:

Customer #2: “Did she just compare parenting to Candy Crush?”