Wednesday, May 29, 2013

I did not smoke crack cocaine

After recent big rides, a quiet day was called for. A nothing day with nothing going on except  Spinning class and a whole lot of web surfing related to something I'll post about soon. It felt great.

Got home around 7. Danny says "there's a message on the machine from your hair person. She had a cancellation and wants to know if you can show up at 1:30 instead of 3:30."

Ah.

Rachel asked in a comment on this blog, why are hair people hard to come by? Because as ordinary professionals in high-priced Silicon Valley they're under pressure. They're always on the verge of not making rent. Either at work or at home or both. Given a time slot they want you to get a cut & color, not just a cut. They need the money. They can't afford to be nice.

The last one left town in a hurry just before the 1st of the month.

The one before that charged $90 just for a cut. Too rich for my blood. Also once I was 7 minutes late and for a long second I thought he was going to throw me out onto the sidewalk. Too stressful. Didn't want him to pick up the scissors.

The one before that forgot to remind me about my appointment. So I missed it. Of course she blamed me and gave a look like 'don't make me talk to you about this again'. Oh yeah, I need a mom. I was pretty freaking sure I would miss another appointment, some time in the future.

Makes you wonder who's working for whom in this picture. That's the place you always get to with hair people. There's no shortage of clients around. You need them worse than they need you.

The one who got stood up yesterday lives in Santa Cruz, 60 miles away. That's how she affords cutting my hair. She is really nice and does a good job but doesn't give reminders. That is kind of a problem. My schedule is regular and then it's chaotic and I haven't figured out an easy way to keep track.
This method doesn't work
Now you're thinking, it's a missed hair appointment. Hey I don't have to keep denying I smoked crack cocaine in the international media. It's not quite as bad as, say, working at Disneyland and bringing a dry ice bomb to work. I didn't set up an Internet money-laundering hub.

But it's bad enough. The old me didn't miss anything. Not a thing. And that is what the world expects, what works.

I wonder if she's ever gonna get back to the new me.

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