Skip to main content

Rumor Has It .....

By

 

 


As a hairdresser in 2003, I began having request from male clients for “topless“ haircuts. This ranged in a time span of several months.


I answered a telephone call one day from a guy that was my business partner’s client.  He wanted to book a haircut appointment but when I called her to the phone he insisted that he book his appointment with me. After discussing this a brief minute or so, I penciled him in.


The day of his appointment I sat him in my chair and I asked him what I could do for him. He said he wanted my “special“ haircut. I was confused as to what this “special“ haircut was so I gave him one of my hairstylist books to browse through and choose what hairstyle he wanted.


As I turned around to give him a minute to look at the book, he grabbed my hand and said, a “SPECIAL“ (with emphasis), haircut. 


I stood behind the chair and looked him in the face through the mirror and explained to him that I was unsure of what he was talking about. As my business partner walked out the side door, I was shocked at the next few words that come out of his mouth. He told me that he had “heard” that  I was giving “topless“ haircuts for $100. 


“Oh! THAT haircut”, I said with a giggle (and decided to play along).


I told him that topless haircuts were $100 flat; it was cash only, no refunds and had to be paid upfront. With that said, he pulled out a crisp $100 bill and put it in my hand. I walked to the break room of the salon, put it in my purse and walked back up front with a clean cape and comb in hand.


Again, standing behind the chair, looking in his face through the mirror I told him to go ahead and take off his shirt. He looked confused. I told him a second time to remove his shirt if he wanted a “topless” haircut. He turned his chair around and stated to me that I was supposed to be the one to remove my shirt…


I laughed in his face. I told him I’m not sure where he heard that from but that was completely not true. That I valued myself, my work and my license too much to risk losing them over a rumor.


He proceeded to tell me that he booked his appointment with me because my business partner was the one that told him I was giving those “special“ haircuts and if I wasn’t going to take my top off he wanted his $100 back.  I reminded him that there were no refunds and that he should take that up with my business partner/HIS hairdresser.  I walked to the side door to ask her  to step inside just to discover that she had left. Imagine that.


He was not happy about getting absolutely nothing for his money but I certainly wasn’t happy either. Finding out that this rumor was started by my business partner and best friend at the time, was devastating to me, to say the least.


In the few weeks after that my business partner decided to show up for work less and less frequently because she knew that she would be confronted about the rumor. In the meantime, I kept collecting that $100 from every client that had the nerve to ask for a “special“ haircut.



Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Mirrored; the Healing in the Hair

By
  Mirrored; the Healing in the Hair.   Behind the Chair, Through the Fire: Why We Never Walk Away Most people see a hair appointment as a luxury—a routine hour of pampering. But for those of us behind the chair, that chair is a sacred space, and the appointment book is a lifeline. I’ve spent my career navigating a whirlwind of personal trauma that would have leveled most. I’ve survived a fire and a flood. I’ve endured the terror of domestic violence and the fight of my life against cancer. I’ve navigated the complex grief of losing my children’s father and the transitions of three marriages. Through every surgery, every tear, and every disaster, there was one constant: I showed up for my clients. The Silent Toll : A Body in Service. What my clients don't always see is the physical price of that commitment. In this industry, we are our own health hazards. I have stood behind that chair while battling the widespread, invisible fires of fibromyalgia and arthritis.  I’ve work...
1 comment
Read more

✨ The Rooms That Remember✨

By
I have stood through many winters, but Christmas has always been my favorite season—because that’s when I came alive. I remember the 1970s first, when the walls were young and so were you. Three sisters, one brother, Mom, Dad, and Grandmother—all of you packed inside me like laughter in a gift box waiting to burst open. You didn’t have much, not in the way the world measures things, but my floors never felt poor. They felt rich with excitement. On Christmas Eve you children would run circles around me, whispering plans to catch Santa Claus in the act. I watched you wiggle in your blankets, wide-eyed, too excited to sleep. I could almost feel your heartbeat in the quiet hours before dawn. And then—morning. Daylight barely breaking through the curtains before little footsteps raced across my boards. Stockings filled with candy and fruit, gifts being ripped open, squeals of joy bouncing off my walls. Wrapping paper flying, giggles echoing, the smell of breakfast drifting in from the kitch...
Post a Comment
Read more

Running on Empty (and my husband’s last nerve)

By
One factual thing about me … I never look at the gas gauge. The only time I think of putting gas in my vehicle is when the gas light and alert goes off. That’s exactly what it’s there for … Just like the alarm clock or timer; a reminder that it’s time to do whatever it is that it needs to be done.    When we go somewhere together, my husband is always asking if there’s gas in my car. (He should rightfully ask, knowing that there’s probably not). He’s warned me numerous times that one day it’s gonna happen; one day I’m gonna ride those fumes home and I’m not gonna have enough time to stop and get gas on the way to my next destination. One day.  So there I was, on a Saturday afternoon, cruising along, singing at top of lungs, arm out the window, bobbing my head back and forth to some questionable 80s pop, completely oblivious to the fact that my car was running on fumes and good intentions. My destination? The nail parlor, about 12 miles away.  Suddenly, I felt a sputt...
Post a Comment
Read more