(I’m currently having a conversation with a little girl, about kindergarten age, while I do her nails.)
Little Girl: “You know, I’ve never been to the United States of America.”
Me: “Wait, what?”
Little Girl: “I’ve never been to the States. I wonder what it’s like there?”
Me: “You live in the United States, hun.”
Little Girl: “I do?”
Me: “Yes! You sure do!”
Little Girl: “Wow, I thought I lived in the city!”
(I am in a salon waiting for the hair-dresser. A customer’s twin daughters are playing together, and while I am looking at the adorable duo, this happens:)
Twin #1: *covering her face with her long hairs* “[Twin#2], look! I have beard!”
Twin #2: “You look like Daddy!”
Twin #1: *walks to the mirror* “You’re right. I look like a monster!”
(I’ve never laughed like that in my entire life! They made my day!)
(I’m getting my hair trimmed. Beside me is a four-year-old boy, who’s just finishing his own haircut.)
Boy: *scowling* “I don’t like my new haircut! Return it!”
Mother: “…Return it?”
Boy: “Yeah! You said that if I didn’t like my new haircut, that they could change it. Like when we changed my red shirt at [Clothing Store] for the green shirt! I want it back the way it was! Return it!”
(Luckily my haircut was finished. I left while the mother was trying to explain to the increasingly unhappy little boy the difference between an exchange and a change, and why they couldn’t return his haircut.)
(I work in a hair salon and take a phone call.)
Me: “Hello. How may I help?”
Customer: “I need an appointment with [Stylist] for a haircut.”
Me: “Okay. When would you like to come in?”
Customer: “Whenever works for [Stylist].”
Me: “Okay. How about tomorrow at 3 pm?”
Customer: “No. Can’t do that.”
Me: “Friday at 10?”
Customer: “No. Can’t do that.”
(This goes on for a while.)
Customer: “I can only do [specific date, a Saturday; our busiest time].”
Me: “I’m afraid [Stylist] is fully booked that day. How about [Other Stylist]?”
Customer: “I always see [Stylist].”
Me: “Okay…”
Customer: “They have nothing?”
Me: “Sorry. They are fully booked.”
Customer: “I have been seeing them for years.”
Me: “Okay…”
Customer: “Can you not move the other clients around?”
Me: “Not really. How would you like if we moved you around for someone else?”
Customer: “You wouldn’t do that. I’m a regular.”
Me: “According to your record, you’ve been to see us three times. The clients booked in have been coming for the last six years.”
Customer: *click*
(I’m three-and-a-half when my mom tries to cut my bangs. She does a pretty awful job of it. She takes me the next day to the salon to get the mess straightened out. Embarrassed at the awful hair cut she’d given me, she takes certain liberties when explaining things to the people at the salon.)
Hair Dresser: *in a sing-song voice* “So I hear SOMEONE tried to cut their hair yesterday…”
Me: “Huh?”
Hair Dresser: *begins to wash my hair* “Mm-hmm. I hope you didn’t do so bad of a job that I can’t fix it.”
Me: “Huh? But—” *tries to look at my mom, who is pointedly looking elsewhere*
Hair Dresser: “Yep. Well, hopefully you’ve learned your lesson about playing with scissors. That’s very dangerous, and you really shouldn’t—”
(At this point, I’m outraged; not at being accused of cutting my own hair and doing a poor job of it, but rather at having broken a rule in the first place.)
Me: “I DIDN’T PLAY WITH THE SCISSORS. MY MOMMY DID IT, NOT ME! GO FUSS AT HER!”
(The entire salon goes silent, and looks at my now red-faced mother.)
Mom: “Well… I, uh… I tried to straighten it up a bit…”
