Whether it’s just for a quick wash-n-snip or a full-on day of head-to-toe beauty, a trip to the salon does more than freshen up highlights and revitalize that faded pedicure: the practice of pampering ourselves affirms our beauty in an estrogen-filled oasis of serenity and sisterhood. It’s typically a win-win situation: we emerge feeling relaxed and looking fierce, while the hard-working stylists get to accessorize with some well-deserved cash. That is, until you run into the wrong one.Ladies, you know what I’m talking about: establishments that claim to be beauty salons but leave you feeling more like an ugly duckling instead of a beautiful swan. Perhaps you asked for a ‘trim’ and ended up with choppy layers instead. Or you asked for two-strand twists and end up with hit-or-miss plats that even a two-year-old wouldn’t tolerate. Whatever the result, the experience leaves a bad taste in your mouth and you resolve to never darken their doorstep again. That’s what happened to me recently when I tried to patronize a new salon, only I can’t complain about their service since I have yet to receive any! Confused?
I’ll elaborate.
Late last month, I got a call out of the blue from the We Ain’t Straight Beauty Salon (name changed to protect the inept). A woman pleasantly announced that a new salon had opened in Garland and that since I was a member of a local church, they were offering free services to first-time customers and I could chose one of the following: a wash, set and style, a 30 minute massage or a manicure and pedicure. Well, I don’t trust a stranger’s hands on my body and no one but my long-time beautician gets anywhere near my hair, so I agreed to a mani/pedi and set up an appointment. A week later, the same employee called to confirm and, days later, off I went. When I arrived at We Ain’t Straight, I walked up to the brother working the counter and told him I was there for the 7:30 p.m. appointment. Suddenly, he looked flustered. “Well, actually, something’s come up and, um, she won’t be able to do your nails today.”
Excuse me? She was already tending to a customer and they didn’t close until nine, right? What was the deal? Without elaborating, he put a star next to my name in the ledger, asked for my number and said I would be called back to reschedule.
No. They. Didn’t.
I left without saying a word, fumed and fussed all the way home and channeled my indignation into a letter detailing everything that happened (or rather, didn’t happen), that I was less than impressed with their lack of professionalism and that they would never get my time or my business ever again.
The response was immediate: the owner called, apologized profusely, and asked for another chance. “We don’t want you to give up on us,” she pleaded, “and because of your inconvenience, I want to offer you a free month of services. That means you can get a wash and style one week, a massage the next and then you can get a manicure and pedicure the following week, if you want.”
I accepted her apology; after all, maybe there was a genuine emergency that caused the abrupt departure. And we all make mistakes, right?
I agreed to give them one last chance, rescheduling a 7 p.m. manicure for the following week. Well, I arrived ten minutes early, and just when I thought that the worst was behind me, I found out, again, that I was mistaken: this time, they were completely closed. By now, I was on the other side of through. I left a sarcastic phone message and decided to wash my still-unmanicured hands of the place altogether.
The calls they’ve placed to me since then remain unanswered. There are too many other proven establishments closer to home that I can patronize, so unless they’re willing to pick me up directly from my crib and feed me broiled lobster on the way, I’m done. After all, vows of free services mean nothing if they mysteriously evaporate before being rendered.
If the whole experience wasn’t so infuriating, it would’ve been funny, since their poor scheduling and business sense reminded me of an old Chris Rock Show comedy sketch: it positioned Rock as JuLeon and Wanda Sykes as Glodean, the garish and ghetto-fabulous owners of the exuberantly unprofessional (and fictitious) Make You Wait Hair Salon. Sure, their customers got serviced, but only after enduring tardy, self-absorbed stylists, faulty equipment and frequent grating reminders of “You gon’ have to WAIT!” One client even said she waited “so %$#&!@* long, my credit got good.”
That was funny. But in real life, when unprofessionalism hits you not once, but twice, it ceases to amuse…because this time, the joke was on me.
