Going to get your hair cut is usually an experience that most people look forward to and enjoy. It’s a time to talk about current events or television shows and catch up on the latest gossip. It’s NOT a time to be afraid or at least it shouldn’t be.

Where I usually get my hair did.

Unfortunately that wasn’t the case for me today.

Normally I get my hair did by Tammy’s sister, Kristan, at Salon MACKK. But she recently hatched out baby Ellie, which also happened to be the day my never-changing a diaper streak ended, and is still on maternity leave so I went someplace else.

Kristan told me to call one of the other girls at the salon to have them cut my hair, but I didn’t want to go all the way the salon, maybe a 15-minute drive, and decided to get my haircut at Wal-Mart instead.

So, technically it’s my own fault because I chose the convenience, and unknown, over friends and safety because of a short drive.

It’s About to Get Hairy

I got to Wal-Mart around 9:30 this morning, thinking I’d be able to roll in and get my hair cut and be home in under an hour.

I was wrong, because apparently this morning was Little Old Lady day. One lady was getting her hair picked out by the one working employee while the other sat under the dryer waiting her turn.

I flipped through some old issues of People magazine as I waited… and waited. I read about how Marilyn Monroe’s death could have been a murder, how that one Twilight girl cheated on her vampire boyfriend and saw several celebrities wearing the same dresses.

When I finally got to sit in the chair is when things started to get hairy and when I realized the stylist was Russian, Polish or from some other eastern European country.

Me: My cut will be easy. A 3.5 [guard] on the bottom and a 4 on the top.
Stylist: Why you want that?
Me: Ummm…
Stylist: A 3.5 and 4 is no difference. Your hair will grow out sideways in 2, 3 weeks.
Me: Ummm…
Stylist: I cut with a 3 and you like.
Me: Uhhhh… OK.

“I Must Break You”

I nervously sat there as grabbed the shears and started running it through my hair. After a few seconds of silence she started questioning me.

I must break you.

Stylist: Who usually cut hair?
Me: My sister-in-law.
Stylist: Where she cut it? (pause) Her house or salon?
Me: She owns a salon but she’s on maternity leave.
Stylist: (pause) So you not coming back to see me?
Me: Uhhh… Prolly not.

It was at this moment that I started thinking she was going to do something to my hair, to make me regret not coming back to her.

It was also at this moment that I thought about Rocky IV when Ivan Drago looked at Rocky and said, “I must break you.”

I sat there in silence as she continued to buzz and snip my hair.

She pulled out a pair of scissors and started clipping in such a way that I thought she was going to stab me. After about the fifth stab she brought up my never coming back to her.

Stylist: So you not coming back to me?
Me: Ummmm, but I still want a good haircut.
Stylist: (laughs) Oh I give you good haircut.
Me: (nervously forcing a smile and laugh) Ok, good.

She continued stabbing away at my hair, only stopping to move in for a closer look before picking up where she left off. When she finished she handed me a mirror for me to inspect everything.

Stylist: You like?
Me: Yeah, it looks good.
Stylist: Come, I wash your hair now.
Me: Oh, OK.

I followed her to the back of the room, sat and leaned back while she started washing my hair. Normally I close my eyes and enjoy the hair-washing part of getting my hair cut. But today I couldn’t keep my eyes closed, no matter how hard I tried.

I was afraid Mrs. Drago was going to do something to me if I wasn’t looking. I was afraid she was going to go all KGB on me and make me disappear. Considering I was the only patron in the store she could have done it.

Fortunately I made it out of there with my life, and an OK haircut, although Tammy said it was “really short.”

I have never been so happy to walk out of Wal-Mart in my life.

To Kristan and the girls at Salon MACKK, I’m sorry. I’ve learned my lesson and won’t ever go anywhere else again… unless Mrs. Drago makes me.