(no subject)
Paddy and Stew are at the....wait for it....yep, skate park.
We took Paddy to get his hair cut, and my eyebrows waxed, today.
Worst Experience Ever:/
We have a 'favourite' hairdresser, but when we can't be stuffed making a 45 minute journey, we settle for 'anyone else'. We were at Toowong today and we made an appointment at the one hair place that could fit us in.
Paddy settled into his seat and the hairdresser started combing his hair. Now, I have no issues with who cuts his hair, so long as they cut it into a reasonable style (we have a favourite, but 'close enough' is generally good enough) and have some sort of aptitute for kids.
The closest I could get to describing Paddy's hairdresser would be to say he had an Arnold Schwarzenegger (sp?) type personality and was in his mid-thirties. He even had the Arnie voice, and Paddy couldn't understand a word he was saying, but I figured it would be sweet. Patrick's now quite good at getting his hair cut, and doesn't need 'direct supervision'. Or so I thought.
I settled down for a massive turn-the-caterpillars-into-something-half-decent wax-and-pluck and Stuart went to buy me a pack of cigarettes.
Normally, a hairdresser who uses the buzz cutters will take around 5 minutes to cut Patrick's hair. Those who use scissors will take 10-15 minutes.
My eyebrow wax took fifteen minutes. I wiped away the tears with the tissue given to me and glanced over at Patrick.
I nearly shit myself.
I'd never quite seen anyone cut hair the way this guy was doing it. He was shaking - and badly - and he was pressing the buzz-cutter thing against the back of Patrick's neck. As in, he was holding it upside down, with the blades pointing out.
Stuart walked in at that point. We looked at each other. All I can think is 'this fucker's coming down from a drug high'.
I said to the hairdresser, 'that looks great, thank-you.'
This guy just keeps staring at me, with the buzz-cutter still going and pressed against Patrick's neck, with a docile look on his face.
'That's fine,' I repeated.
He got the hint and stopped what he was doing. Patrick left with the back of his skivvy soaking wet (I'm assuming from the spray bottle) and with hair everywhere. His haircut is indescribable. The guy only cut the top part and the bit at the nape of his neck, and it's all different lengths. His fringe is a wiggly line.
It took the hairdresser five minutes to find his way to the counter. He kept walking into nothingness, pausing, and then 'jump-starting'.
We actually did pay. Fuck knows why. It cost us $15.00, which cheesed me off even more, as the standard price for a child's haircut is $10.00 (no matter where you go, it's just about always $10.00, and this wasn't an upper class hairdresser. Even the upper class ones still charge us $10.00).
So in short, we paid $15.00 to have some drug-fucked asshole massacre Patrick's hair, get hair all over his clothes, and wet his shirt.
On Friday, Stuart will be taking him to our 'regular' hairdresser, to have the carnage that is Patrick's hair salvaged.
Not. Happy. Jan.
I'm petrified at the thought of what that jackass could have done to my baby:(
We took Paddy to get his hair cut, and my eyebrows waxed, today.
Worst Experience Ever:/
We have a 'favourite' hairdresser, but when we can't be stuffed making a 45 minute journey, we settle for 'anyone else'. We were at Toowong today and we made an appointment at the one hair place that could fit us in.
Paddy settled into his seat and the hairdresser started combing his hair. Now, I have no issues with who cuts his hair, so long as they cut it into a reasonable style (we have a favourite, but 'close enough' is generally good enough) and have some sort of aptitute for kids.
The closest I could get to describing Paddy's hairdresser would be to say he had an Arnold Schwarzenegger (sp?) type personality and was in his mid-thirties. He even had the Arnie voice, and Paddy couldn't understand a word he was saying, but I figured it would be sweet. Patrick's now quite good at getting his hair cut, and doesn't need 'direct supervision'. Or so I thought.
I settled down for a massive turn-the-caterpillars-into-something-half-decent wax-and-pluck and Stuart went to buy me a pack of cigarettes.
Normally, a hairdresser who uses the buzz cutters will take around 5 minutes to cut Patrick's hair. Those who use scissors will take 10-15 minutes.
My eyebrow wax took fifteen minutes. I wiped away the tears with the tissue given to me and glanced over at Patrick.
I nearly shit myself.
I'd never quite seen anyone cut hair the way this guy was doing it. He was shaking - and badly - and he was pressing the buzz-cutter thing against the back of Patrick's neck. As in, he was holding it upside down, with the blades pointing out.
Stuart walked in at that point. We looked at each other. All I can think is 'this fucker's coming down from a drug high'.
I said to the hairdresser, 'that looks great, thank-you.'
This guy just keeps staring at me, with the buzz-cutter still going and pressed against Patrick's neck, with a docile look on his face.
'That's fine,' I repeated.
He got the hint and stopped what he was doing. Patrick left with the back of his skivvy soaking wet (I'm assuming from the spray bottle) and with hair everywhere. His haircut is indescribable. The guy only cut the top part and the bit at the nape of his neck, and it's all different lengths. His fringe is a wiggly line.
It took the hairdresser five minutes to find his way to the counter. He kept walking into nothingness, pausing, and then 'jump-starting'.
We actually did pay. Fuck knows why. It cost us $15.00, which cheesed me off even more, as the standard price for a child's haircut is $10.00 (no matter where you go, it's just about always $10.00, and this wasn't an upper class hairdresser. Even the upper class ones still charge us $10.00).
So in short, we paid $15.00 to have some drug-fucked asshole massacre Patrick's hair, get hair all over his clothes, and wet his shirt.
On Friday, Stuart will be taking him to our 'regular' hairdresser, to have the carnage that is Patrick's hair salvaged.
Not. Happy. Jan.
I'm petrified at the thought of what that jackass could have done to my baby:(