Salon Satisfaction

I’d forgotten what it felt like to be a bit pampered.
When I visit my hairdresser at home – whom I’ve been going to for probably 20 years – I’m plopped in front of a sink for a shampoo, moved to a chair, and asked, “Just a trim?”

          As soon as I walked into the salon here, I was greeted enthusiastically and asked if I wanted a water or coffee while the receptionist summoned my stylist. An earnest twenty-something-year-old guided me to her station where she also asked if I would like a coffee or water. We then discussed what I had in mind and she called over a more senior stylist to ensure that our plan would work.

          I have a simple bob just reaching to my shoulders. All I really wanted was a trim, with a small amount of layering to combat the Florida frizzies and the fact that when it’s humid (most of the time) my hair turns into an equilateral triangle.

          The plan was pronounced workable, and I was given a smock (haven’t seen one of those with my guy at home for some time) and guided to a sink where my head was not only was shampooed, but massaged. I could have spent the day there.

          All during my session, around me the other stylists, as soon as their chair was free, cleaned their equipment, their chairs, and even sprayed and mopped the floor beneath.

          After my cut was complete (looking great), I bid my stylist a warm goodbye, paid at the desk, and was given a stamped survey card, a card for my stylist, and the card of the office manager for the three branches of the salon.

Best of all, it cost $20 less than I pay at home because my sweet twenty-something was one of their beginning stylists. I think I’ll just let my hair grow at home and get my hair cut when I’m in Florida.