This little vignette is about my stylist and her customer service (or lack thereof) skills.
I used to have jet black hair. See?
Now, with salt and pepper my "color de jour," when I see anyone who still has hair that color, my first thought is, "Enjoy that while you can. Because as soon as the first gray one appears, it's going to be devastatingly obvious in those deep dark surroundings."
As my stylist began cutting my hair, a guy came in who was helped by another stylist. He was younger than me, and he had jet black hair—at least it looked that black from where I was sitting across the room.
At the hands of my stylist, more salt than pepper sprinkled off my head and landed with a smug laugh on the black apron wrapped around me, and we both heard the guy across the room ask, "How much would it be to color my hair?"
After getting over the shock that this guy wanted to get his hair colored—at his age, and as dark as his hair already looked, I about passed out when his stylist answered, "$72.00." I'm pretty sure that's what I heard, although their website says, "Color: Starting at $46.95."
Before I could pick my chin back up off the white landscape that the apron had become by this time, my stylist asked, "You ever consider getting your hair colored?"
Instead of saying, "No. Have you ever considered a nose job?" I replied, "Yes, I have, but I think it's a lot like blood pressure medicine—you can't stop once you start. So I haven't."
The sting redux
After the obligatory "look-in-the-mirror-and-tell-me-what-a-g
I wanted to retort something about being simpatico with the recently late Andy Rooney:
But instead I said, "No, thanks. I'll just singe them with my cigarette lighter on the way home."
Okay, I didn't really say that either, but I wanted to.