I Made A Complaint Today…

Who do you think of when you think of someone who makes complaints, in say, a clothing store? It’s that mother of a certain age with the “can I speak to your manager” haircut and the sense of entitlement, right? I certainly don’t like to complain. (Well, I’ll allow myself a little private grumble, but nothing that might affect anybody). Confrontation is NOT my thing, even if I do have a right to speak up.

So, what happened today? I went to get my hair done, nothing new there, I do the same thing every eight weeks. There was, however, a new trainee. She was assigned to wash the bleach off my hair. In the seconds of interaction we had between her coming up to me in my chair and me settling down at the basins, I can only assume that my face alone incited hatred within her. The wash that ensued could only be described as vicious.

When the shampoo went on and her fake nails started tearing into my neck and scalp, I figured that it was probably just an oversight. She certainly could have been more gentle, but fake nails — even ones that felt like that-are no crime. I noticed straight away that I wasn’t given a towel. Bit odd, but she was new. When water started to come down my shoulder and onto my leg, I reached around my neck to see if she had now put a towel down and I just hadn’t felt it. She noticed my action and asked if I indeed wanted a towel. Apparently my “yes please” wasn’t enough, and her and her goddamn nails carried on.

It got worse. She was throwing her hands about with such violence that shampoo-tinged water was flying into my eyes and a patch on my jeans was now soaked. She was shoving my head forward to get to the back of my hair (despite me already moving to allow this), then YANKING me back by my hair as though we were in a catfight.

I was so shocked by the end of it that I had to say something when my hairdresser came back over. Having considered that perhaps the trainee was just trying to be quick, that still didn’t excuse her behaviour. First off, the salon was very quiet, and secondly, there were certainly more gentle ways she could have gone about it. It all seemed so bizarrely malicious. I worried about her doing the same thing to a frail old lady.

So yes, I complained. It made me feel awkward and a bit shit, but I’m glad I did it. You don’t get paid to treat customers like that, and I couldn’t fathom even being so rough with someone I knew and disliked. Making the manager aware of how she acted was something so out of my comfort zone, so far away from the no-fuss “good girl” I like to be. And you know what, I’m pretty proud of what I did today — and I have nice new lilac hair to boot.