Yesterday, The Remix came home at around 11:00AM because there was a mixup with the schedule at work. And because it wasn't The Remix's mistake, he got a paid day off. Woot woot! So, we decided to head up to Barrie, which is a pretty large city north of us. Mostly to go to Costco and get bbq essentials for a party we're throwing on Saturday, but also to hit up Sally's because there isn't one near us so whenever we're in a 30min radius of one, we go.
And because it had been about four months since The Remix had a haircut, we thought we'd try to get that done as well, which is where this story really begins.
Why? Because I'm not sure that I have ever had such a ridiculous hair-cutting experience.
So here's how it all went down:
We walked into this place--an upscale kind of Sally's (sorrySally'spleasedon'tbemadatme) that has a hair salon. I figured it was better than SuperCuts, you know, because they sold all the big names in hair, and a whole which of nail polish. So obviously that would mean they were good at haircuts, right? And they took walk-ins, which worked for us since we didn't really want to wait.
Only a few minutes later, a gal came and collected The Remix, walking him around the corner to her chair. I followed, and showed her this picture, which I thought could be described as "swanky 50s dude."
If only we lived in London, where Salon Cyan is located. *sighs*
Her description, however, was a bit different.
And by that, I mean she called it "The Hitler."
Then, she laughed and corrected herself. What she had really meant to say was that The Remix wanted "The Combover."
I told her that I would call it The 50s Professor, which she not-so-subtly chuckled at. So, I guess you could say that we agreed to disagree, even though my description was the right one and hers sucked the big one.
The hair cut got going after that, and I had to admit that she was pretty good at her job. Within a few seconds, The Remix's mop began to take a new shape.
But that brief moment of non-offensiveness ended when she took a piece of The Remix's cut hair, lifted it up, and said it would work as a Hitler moustache.
I'm pretty sure that neither The Remix nor I said anything, because what on earth do you say to that? She clearly thought it was appropriate--funny even! And if that was the point she started from, it would have taken about seven days of continual conversation for her to even start to understand how VERY VERY WRONG that was to say. Plus, I was hangry, so I decided to let it go because I would have probably ended up yelling at her about hot dogs, instead of inappropriate comments.
The middle-part of the haircut went without incident, which was surprising considering what had happened in the beginning. But, she wasn't about finished yet.
She stepped behind The Remix, ran her fingers through his hair, and then asked if he wanted her to make him a bald spot at the crown of his head, to justify his combover.
I want to say that she was kidding, but I'm not 100% sure that she was because she was eyeing the crown of his head like nobody's business and not laughing. Maybe she was just making fun of his haircut for the fourth time in as many minutes. WHO CAN KNOW FOR SURE.
Anyway, we said no. Because, obviously.
And then, for her swan song, about one minute before she had finished
The Hitler The Combover The 50s Professor, she hocked up a lougie, coughed with a non-covered mouth into the space around her, and then said that she couldn't shake the cold she had for the last few weeks.
Naturally, that was my cue to
sprint from the back walk briskly to the doors and wait in the car. Which is exactly what I did. The Remix followed shortly.
So although she gave The Remix a really great haircut, we won't be going back. Like, ever.
Lesson learned? One probably shouldn't reference murderous dictators when one is taking a walk-in hair appointment. Also? One shouldn't cough their germs all over them. Or threaten to make a bald spot where a bald spot does not exist. So, basically, everything that happened in this story.