A $72 Learning Experience

 Tonight W got home a little early (yay). So I rushed across the street to get my hair cut. I was hoping the young Chinese guy would be there to cut it, but it was an older Chinese guy (with 3 little girls--although they were not there).

I had determined prior to going there that I was going to make my hair go blond.  Blond like the middle one [2009], although I would have settled for the albino-ish 2010 look.  I was so excited.

The hair sample book was propped open and I pointed delightedly to the blondest samples and I said, "I want this." I got a magazine, opened to several different lovely blond pictures and said, "This is what I want." I told everyone in the salon that I was going blond.  They all nodded at me--sensing my excitement and joy at finally accomplishing a life long goal.  Blondness.

It all started when I was little and my cousins Michelle and Nicole were around.  Their hair looked fabulous. Nicole specifically had the most darling blond-ish curls now and then and I was wracked with jealousy.

So I am sitting there, he puts the blue stuff on and I'm thinking. Baby blue--it is a good sign--it will be lighter in no time. I am going to be [school-girl giggle] gorgeous.

I go to get it rinsed. Apparently the color didn't stick so they added more. I think they thought they were being sneaky and because it was my first time hair dying at a salon.  But I knew. Even if I couldn't understand a single solitary word they were saying to each other.

So I get to the mirror and my hair is . . . darker than my original hair color-- 2004 Reese-ish.  And I'm like, "I asked for blond."

The guy said, "Beautifur color, right?" (All his "L"s turned to "R"s, as it happens with some Chinese people).

Me: "Uh--I asked for blond."

Him, "It is brond."

Me: "This, is not blond. This is dark brown." (When reading this, I want all readers to understand my voice was even and not grouchy--but firm).

Him: {nothing--just the blare of two blow dryers on my head)}

The Chinese-speaking Vietnamese owner came over.

Me: I asked for blond.

Her: It is brond.

Me: No this is brown.


She got the color sample book. I showed her the sample I asked for. She pulled out the insert and compares the hair.

Her: They are same.

Me: They are not the same.  This one is the one I wanted. See?

I pointed to the hair sample and to the word next to it--"Blonde #9"

Me: Not Brown.

I pointed to the hair sample that was the most similar to my current hair and to the big bold word "Medium Brown" right next to it.

The owner excused herself to help someone else leave.  It was one of the people that I had bragged to about getting blond hair--she had come for a haircut but ended up getting a pedicure. I turned to her for reassurance that I had in fact asked for blonde. She nodded and hurried out the door.  My thoughts screamed to her, "That's right. Leave before it's too late!!!"

I began shivering. I cannot decide if it is because I felt so angry or if it is because I was actually freezing.  I asked for my coat.

I waited until he was done blow drying (they are really good at styling).
  
Me: Well, it is not blond. I asked for this color [pointing back to the sample].

Him: It does not come out that coror. It come out yerrow. The coror next to the hair. See? Yerrow.

Me: Really? {I nodded a little because I knew this guy was telling a terrible lie and because I was fairly certain he was pointing to the mixture instructions}.  It is still not what I asked for.

Him: You go home. If your husband doesn't like it come back and I'll change it for free.

Me: He wanted me to try blond too.

Him: Just see what he says.

I nodded again, unconvinced, feeling a lump raising in my throat. Then I thrust my money into his hand (he looked like a kid on Christmas morning). I fled back home until I reached W and then cried an eighth of a cup of tears.

Part of me is thinking, this is a good thing, right?  Now you won't have to do too much upkeep because it is much closer to your natural color than blond.  Think of all the money you'll save.

But the other part of me is hyperventilating and crying out, "But I wanted to blo-ha-ha-ond." (The ha-ha in the middle of the word blond is my other part crying.)

This morning I looked at my hair. It is almost a dark brown-red with purple-ish highlights.  Yeesh.

What would you do if you were me?