One time I hated my (old) job

A hairstylist thrives on referrals. No amount of advertising, coupons or "specials" can replace positive word of mouth. Back when I was behind the chair, I loved referrals from clients that I liked (which honestly, was most of them).

One of my clients was a woman I'll call Diana. She was a little on the shy side, but over time loosened up and even got a bit adventurous with her hair. After a few appointments she told me that she hated the way her fiancee's current stylist cut his hair and was trying to get him to come to me.

"Great!" I thought, "Diana is so fun and sweet, her fiancee must be a great guy!"

Wrong.

I didn't like him the moment his pompous ass walked in the door--late.

I always prided myself on running on time. I hated when clients were late because it could throw off the rest of the night. Generally though, if it was a person's first appointment I cut them some slack as they had never been there before. 99% of the time they apologized profusely and I got over it.

But this guy had been there before, to pick Diana up from an appointment. I remember he waited in the car while she checked out, instead of coming in. Not a total deal-breaker, but it really should have tipped me off to the type of person he was. And he didn't make any mention of the fact that he was ten minutes late for his appointment either.

I should mention at this point that when I did men's haircuts, I washed their hair after the haircut (unless they had 4 pounds of pomade or 63 gallons of gel on it) to get all the loose hairs rinsed away. For a while I washed it before and after, but it became a pain in the ass and all but a few of my male clients found it excessive.

After some pleasantries, I asked him what type of haircut he wanted.

"I don't know," he quipped, "Aren't you supposed to know what looks best on me?"

What I actually said: "Alrighty then. Let's get started."

What I wanted to say: "Right about now, a hatchet in your forehead sounds pretty good."

So, I put the cutting cape around him and he stops me. "Aren't you going to wash my hair? Diana said this was a nice salon."

I explained as sugary-sweetly as I could muster that I would be shampooing his hair afterwards, and he seemed to relax a little.

The rest of the time, he was pretty quiet and then it came time to pay. At the front desk, I thanked him for coming in (I did!), and handed the ticket to the receptionist. As I walked to the back, I heard it.

"Twenty eight dollars?!! And I tip on top of that?!"

Part of me felt insulted. I gave him a damn fine haircut, and he was bitching about the price? The other part of me was relieved. I hoped that this meant he wouldn't be back.

Wrong again. He came every THREE weeks for the next year. He was late for about every third appointment and I truly believe it was because he was such a control freak. He knew I would have to wait on him, and I think he liked being "the boss". He wasn't late every time or he knew I would have to say something. Sneaky prick.

One time, I was cutting his hair and my husband called to ask what he should make for dinner. Mr. Assface found it laughable that my husband would be making dinner for me, himself and the kid all by his widdle ol' self. Turns out Mr. Assface never step foot in the kitchen--ever. "That's my wife's job" (My sweet adorable client had actually gone through with the marriage to this loser). Never mind that his wife worked the same hours as he did doing the exact same job (and I'll go ahead and assume she gets paid less than him for it too!).

Lest you think him simply an old school neanderthal, he didn't mow the lawn either...or fix shit around the house...or take out the garbage...or take the cars for oil changes, etc.

When Diana mentioned that they were going on a Vegas vacation, she relayed in detail the depths of Mr. Assface's cheapness. I'm all for saving a buck, but no one's going to tell me how many drinks I will be "allowed to have" each night of my vacation. I honestly don't know how she didn't kill him in his sleep.

He would do other things to "test me". He'd see someone getting highlights and ask how the chemicals worked. He'd ask why I was using one shampoo in favor of another. I know he didn't care. He just wanted to see if he could make me stumble. I know he thought that because I was a hairstylist, I couldn't possibly be smart, and I proved him wrong every chance I got.

At Christmas time, the salon I worked at closed between Christmas Eve and New Year's. As a rule, it was a slow time and it gave us a chance to recover from the insane hours we put in around the holidays.

The last week before our "holiday break", we reminded clients that we would be gone until the first business day after January 1st. As it turned out, Mr. Assface happened to come in the last night before we were off.

When I told him that we would be closed for about a week, he gave me an incredulous look and said, "B-but, what if someone needs an emergency haircut?! Will you have someone on call?"

Someone on call?!

What I actually said: "No. We are taking a well-deserved break. If someone needs a haircut that bad, they can go somewhere else."

What I wanted to say: "Well, Mr. Assface, if your pussy hurts that bad while we're gone, I suggest you consult a doctor. I'm certain they will have "someone on call"."

It's been a little over a year since I quit working to stay home with my girls and surprisingly, I haven't run into this guy in public yet. I know it's coming. I can feel it. I hope for his sake that when I do, it's not after I've been drinking.

What I should say: Hey, how've you been?

What I will say: You are a fucktard.