The quarterly hair horror

The dreaded three monthly hair appointment was today! Regulars will know my dislike of this necessary evil, I have blogged it on more than one occasion. I hate it, nay detest it, the faffing, the inane conversation centered around holidays and hair colour drives me demented, luke warm instant coffee and hairdresser egos are just not my thing.

Today's foray into the nightmare that is the hair salon was, it transpired, amusingly different. This establishment is for a small town, reasonably upmarket and at least boasts well qualified stylists, post 1960's decor, (unlike it's counterparts in the town, that favour the blue rinse brigade) and a comfortingly full appointment book.

A rare calm greeted me upon my arrival, only one or two clients instead of the usual melee where apparent and thankfully my regular stylist 'Fiona' was ready and waiting for me. As time has gone by she seems to have learnt of my dislike for the usual bowing and scraping afforded clients as the norm and has relaxed a little. She knows my dread of the backwash and instructed 'hair washing junior' appropriately, to only 'wash once' and 'no conditioner', thereby affording me an early escape from this neck breaking contraption.

As time passed and she snip, snipped away we chatted comfortably about all manner of subjects, we giggled and joked and all was looking well. At this point things became a little strange, we noticed suddenly that we were alone, the other staff had all 'disappeared'. Little did we know but this hair appointment was about to become like something from an episode of a poorly written soap opera.

'Go find out where they have gone' I suggested and laughing she disappeared into the back of the building, leaving me alone and half done. Returning moments later, shaking and red faced she reported there had been a disagreement of sorts and the absent staff where embroiled in an argument concerning the perpetrator of a large number of 'strange' phone calls they had been receiving of late. This argument carried on, intermittently spilling over into the front of house when one or other of these girls appeared, pretended to be working and was then summoned back by one colleague or another in hissing whispers.

Amid all of this and without warning 'young hairwashing junior' suddenly appeared in floods of tears....enough is enough was Fiona's response and amid apologies she ushered said hairwasher briskly out of sight. She returned minutes later, hairwasher had not it seemed become involved in the cat fight as suspected, instead she had just been dumped by her boyfriend of many months..........via text message..... Nice guy...... and was still wailing uncontrollably from somewhere out of sight but most certainly not out of earshot!

Professional it was not, but damned entertaining it all was. Ok, so the luke warm instant coffee was still appalling, no change there, but the conversation was improved and the entertainment was certainly more amusing than that normally provided during the dreaded salon visit!

Oh....and in the end I did get my hair cut!