If you live in Hamilton and want a decent hair cut, there are very few places to go. I have had maybe one good hair cut in my entire life. I've had more mullets than Tears for Fears, several bowls have been used as cutting tools and every time I leave a salon I feel like I was used as a teaching exercise.
This most recent hair cut isn't bad at all, but the experience was. I have gone to Maddison Avenue on Locke Street a couple of times, because, honestly, I just don't know where else to go. If you are a girl from the Hammer, surely you've been there and you might know who Rino is. Or if you don't know who he is, you've certainly seen or heard him be completely obnoxious and irritating.
He thinks he is Italy's gift to women. And men. And hair. He likes to fill his salon with girls like him. We all know these girls - the Salon Girls. I had typed a more harsh word, but am feeling charitable.
These girls, usually under 25, 130lbs and 80 IQ points, are a select breed of annoying. You may be one of them if you:
- are wearing more than 3 bracelets
- are wearing leggings....as pants
- have bleached blond hair that is highly processed and teased so much its feelings have been hurt
- wear size zero jeans...that cost $250
- like to talk solely about the clubs you're going to
- are talking louder than anyone around you
- consider the snobby look-up-and-down to be your best facial expression
- are smacking your gum
- are wearing any of the following with seriousness: leg warmers, suspenders, gothic print or neon
- have put your make-up on with a trowel
- are wearing hoop earrings that a can of hairspray could pass through. And are trying.
- have no sense of humour and joke about "taping your hair back on." What??
When you're in the chair, there is little more to do than watch and listen. Unfortunately, the day I was in there, was the same day an incredibly loud and obnoxious CH television personality was there - please, you all know who she is. When she left, her hair made her 3 inches taller and my IQ had gone down 30 points, just by absorbing what she bellowed at everyone.
Having the convenience of a mirror right in front of me, I am aware of the faces of disgust I was sending out there, but I really couldn't help it. This is my version of hell. Everyone yelling, fighting for attention by being crass and tacky, all heralded by King Shag who dared to tell me that he prefers blondes.
And the whole experience was capped off by the receptionist tapping on the calculator for 10 minutes with her fake nails trying to figure out the sums, then passing it to me so I could, "like, maybe do it yourself. I can't get it."