So it seems I am systematically having arguments with, or having other means to boycott every public establishment between my house and the city centre. This is rather inconvenient. I now cannot get curry from the local curry house (well, would you go back to a place that served up 2 x AA batteries at the bottom of a takeaway Rogan Josh?), cannot use the nearby dry cleaners (long ridiculous story involving them slightly-burning, losing and then re-discovering a dress of mine, at the end of which I had to have a conversation with the woman who owned it, who, although she agreed that I was entitled to be a little irritated by the situation, just would not stop talking and kept repeating the same things), and as of yesterday cannot go to the hairdressers’ either. The only place that they are still speaking to me is the little organic-type off licence, and even that I’m not totally sure about because I went there during a World Cup match once and my lack of enthusiasm regarding the football may have dampened the staff’s enthusiasm for me. (And they had been quite enthusiastic, previously.)

Hairdressers have been a problem for me for quite some time. When I was 22 I decided to stop going to them, because a) I had no money and b) I couldn’t stand the conversations that they tried to have with me while they were doing it (”Are you a student?” “No” “Are you going anywhere nice on holiday?”) and c) they didn’t always do it how I wanted. I started cutting my own hair, which took ages and was a bit dodgy. For a while a housemate did it for me to a much better standard, but she moved away.

This year I decided I didn’t have the time or the patience to do it myself any more, and decided to risk hairdressers again. I went to one, told him what I wanted, and he did exactly what I asked, without trying to have a conversation with me. This was excellent. But it was in one of those “Turn Up Whenever Without An Appointment And Wait X Minutes” places, and I really prefer appointments. I thought I’d try the one near my house. I gave the same instructions, and a girl there cut my hair exactly as I wanted without trying to have a conversation with me either. I thought I’d cracked it.

So yesterday, I went back to the hairdressers’ near my house. This time I was presented to a different, older woman. I told her I would like a trim, please, with the layers putting back in and the hair shaped diagonally around my face. Exactly what I said to the others. But this one was different. She snipped a few bits off the back, and then said, “Hmm.” This was a little alarming. “Your hair’s very thin-textured,” she said. “Are you sure you want to have layers in it? Because mine is thin-textured and I never have layers in it because it makes the hair look even thinner and you really want to be adding volume, not taking it away.”
“It’s thin?” This was news to me. I’ve been battling against too much volume for most of my life; if my hair is all one length it sticks out in a big triangle. And some people who didn’t like me (it was mutual) on my school bus used to call me Fuzz Head.

She very firmly told me a bit more about how she wouldn’t advise having layers in it. She was being quite aggressive about it, and it actually felt like I was being TOLD OFF for wanting the WRONG HAIR. But I had asked for layers; I was bloody well going to have layers. I wasn’t paying her to boss me into having my hair all one length just because that would look better in her opinion. It’s a bit much, having to suddenly become a defense lawyer in the middle of your own haircut.

I wish that I had gone with my gut reaction at this point, and ripped off the plastic gown, announced, “I don’t think it’s going to work out between us,” and stormed out. But I didn’t. I just told her that my main priority was to reduce the volume, thank you, and would she put the layers in. “Oh I’m sorry,” she said, and went round my hair snipping little bits off until all of the back had been done.

Then she came to the front. “Your natural parting is in the middle.” she said. Previous hairdressers have not said this; they have said “Where would like your parting?” I managed to assert that I would like it just slightly to one side, but this took some doing and it was clearly unsettling her further. “Right, so what happens with the front?” she asked. “Is it a fringe or does it just sort of blend in?” I repeated my request for it to be shaped diagonally around my face, indicating the shape with my fingers.

Then she cut what was essentially a long fringe but only on one side of my head.

“Erm, have you done this side?” I asked, when she had declared herself finished.
“Well no because this is a fringe and your parting is there,” she said.
“Um. It wasn’t actually supposed to be a fringe. And this side isn’t really, er, diagonal like I asked for, maybe you could just-” I was trying to be as nice as possible about it.

She grabbed a bit of the front of my hair and held it in front of my face and said, “Look. That bit. Goes to that bit. Goes to that bit” in a very cross sort of way. And then did the same to the other side. Then she fetched a mirror and snarled, “I have put your layers in. At the back. They’re not any shorter than this because that would look ridiculous.”
“What? I didn’t ask you to do them any shorter!”
“*snarling sounds*”
“OK. All right. Can I please go now?”

Then a different member of staff cheerfully took my payment as if everything was just hunky dory, and I went away seething.

Basically, I had just had a bitch-fight with a hairdresser.

I had given her the exact same instructions as I gave to the previous two people who cut my hair. Unfortunately she had a) not listened and b) tried to impose her own ideas about what was correct and normal onto my head, when I hadn’t actually asked for advice. She was making it all about her. But it wasn’t her hair. RAGE.

I’m going to have to be very cautious from now on, but who goes into salons and asks, “Before I book an appointment, can I ask whether your staff harbour dictatorial desires? And are they equipped with ears?” Because that’s what I’m going to have to do.