A series of unfortunate events
Oct. 4th, 2005 08:38 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
zoetropeAt work on Friday night I emailed our printers with a design for some party invites we needed manufactured. This was a particularly mundane moment in my day. However, it caused a flurry of events that culminated, believe it or not, in my walking down Oxford St at 11 o' clock on a Tuesday morning at the exact moment that a desperate aspiring hairdresser stepped out of Toni & Guy and said with desperation: "Would you like a free haircut?"
Now, I'm not one for snap decisions, but for once I said: "Sure. Why not? It's my day off, after all. But I have to be out of here by 12:15."
"No problem," he said. "I promise."
It turns out that the hairdresser was undergoing a hairdressing exam, and I was the unwitting fool who had stumbled upon this important day.
Firstly, I've never been so scared that a hairdresser was going to actually injure me with his scissors before. I could feel his hands shaking against my head. I kept praying that he wouldn't spear me with a slip of the fingers. Not all that ridiculous - he cut himself twice! No joke. He kept having to run off to get plasters.
Then there was the examiner. You could have made this guy up, but you would have been accused of rampant stereotyping. For starters, he was French. He had the snotty, superior artiste thing down to a tee. My hairdresser was terrified of him. As he was leading me over to the sinks to wash my hair, the examiner came over and started asking him hairdressing questions about radials and 90 degree angles and... stuff (I am, as a result of this trim, a fully qualified hairdresser). My poor hairdresser was so scared that when the examiner asked him a question, he couldn't answer. I could practically feel his mind going blank. The arrogant Frenchman, meanwhile, actually jumped up and down in frustration when the poor guy didn't know the answer. Then terrified another trainee walking past by demanding that she answer the question.
Then, after the most painstaking haircut of my life, the examiner began running his hands through my hair, looking for a fault. After a few moments in which the hairdresser and I held our breaths, the examiner paused and looked down his nose at my hair. I felt like a failure.
"You still have time," he drawled to the hairdresser in a very French fashion. "I weel let you fineesh." And walked off!
Ouch, I thought, wincing. The hairdresser went white and started frantically chopping at my hair again.
After several such altercations the examiner was finally happy with the balance and structure of this haircut and I was finally allowed to leave. An hour late for lunch with![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
2am_optimism.
It was quite the adventure. Unfortunately, I hate the cut. *g*
Now, I'm not one for snap decisions, but for once I said: "Sure. Why not? It's my day off, after all. But I have to be out of here by 12:15."
"No problem," he said. "I promise."
It turns out that the hairdresser was undergoing a hairdressing exam, and I was the unwitting fool who had stumbled upon this important day.
Firstly, I've never been so scared that a hairdresser was going to actually injure me with his scissors before. I could feel his hands shaking against my head. I kept praying that he wouldn't spear me with a slip of the fingers. Not all that ridiculous - he cut himself twice! No joke. He kept having to run off to get plasters.
Then there was the examiner. You could have made this guy up, but you would have been accused of rampant stereotyping. For starters, he was French. He had the snotty, superior artiste thing down to a tee. My hairdresser was terrified of him. As he was leading me over to the sinks to wash my hair, the examiner came over and started asking him hairdressing questions about radials and 90 degree angles and... stuff (I am, as a result of this trim, a fully qualified hairdresser). My poor hairdresser was so scared that when the examiner asked him a question, he couldn't answer. I could practically feel his mind going blank. The arrogant Frenchman, meanwhile, actually jumped up and down in frustration when the poor guy didn't know the answer. Then terrified another trainee walking past by demanding that she answer the question.
Then, after the most painstaking haircut of my life, the examiner began running his hands through my hair, looking for a fault. After a few moments in which the hairdresser and I held our breaths, the examiner paused and looked down his nose at my hair. I felt like a failure.
"You still have time," he drawled to the hairdresser in a very French fashion. "I weel let you fineesh." And walked off!
Ouch, I thought, wincing. The hairdresser went white and started frantically chopping at my hair again.
After several such altercations the examiner was finally happy with the balance and structure of this haircut and I was finally allowed to leave. An hour late for lunch with
2am_optimism. It was quite the adventure. Unfortunately, I hate the cut. *g*
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2005-10-04 07:46 pm (UTC)I had a similar experience with an optician. Although she'd passed her exam and was just a newbie.
no subject
Date: 2005-10-05 09:40 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-10-04 10:22 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-10-05 09:41 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-10-04 10:34 pm (UTC)"You still have time," he drawled to the hairdresser in a very French fashion. "I weel let you fineesh." And walked off!
I would have freaked out by this point!
no subject
Date: 2005-10-05 09:41 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-10-05 03:41 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-10-05 09:42 am (UTC)By the way, I've been planning your makeover ;-)
no subject
Date: 2005-10-05 03:51 pm (UTC)