Sometimes I need change. I long for change. I demand change.
And when all else remains constant and I can't paint a room or run off with a bunch of gypsies, I do the only thing I can think of.
I cut my hair.
I have long been an emotional [hair] cutter. It doesn't leave scars and the emotional rush is immediate. For me, it's the quickest thing to catapult me out of a rut.
I remember once when I worked in the mall I encountered a horrible, mean lady.
Let me set the stage for you:
It was Sunday. I was the manager on duty. I had a new girl running the register and a new guy working the fitting rooms. The other assistant manager was on his break in the back. He had recently had a child and was working nights at FedEx, so he was sleeping.
The lady in question had two kids with her and they were in the largest fitting room. My fitting room guy had walked away to put up some clothes. When he came back, the person waiting in line for a fitting room said that a lady and child had come out of the room and they asked if they could have it.
He looked under the door and saw no feet. Opened the door with his key where he was surprised to see a 12 year old girl (fully dressed, mind you) standing on the bench FOR NO APPARENT REASON.
He apologized and shut the door. The girl came out shortly, because really, she wasn't doing anything. The young boy was embarrassed, he was 16.
I did not know any of this had happened.
The girl at the cashwrap was having issues ringing up some sale items. She was the only cashier and now had three people waiting in line. I left the front of the store (something I am NOT supposed to do) to go help her. Together we fix her problem and I plan on returning to the front. Rude lady is second in line and is pissed. Pissed that she has to wait. And very pissed because her daughter just told her about the fitting room door opening incident.
She takes it out on me.
She tells me that I am stupid.
She tells me that I don't know how to do my job.
She yells at me.
Berates me in front of my employees.
And is overall a rude bitch.
I tell her that the company only allows us to schedule so many people on Sundays.
And that I can't open a second register right then.
I tell her that I need to be in the front of the store because we have high theft and I'm probably getting ripped off at that very moment.
And then, of course, I do what I always do.
Because I couldn't tell that bitch what I was really thinking, which was, 'why did you leave your daughter in there alone?' And 'What exactly was she doing? Does she have a mental illness that results in her standing mindlessly on a bench, having forgotten where she was?' Or, 'Did she think that it was OK for her daughter to rudely occupy the fitting room when others needed it? Did she teach them that behavior was OK?' And 'Did she wonder if her daughters would grow up and have the same disrespect for people since that was what she was teaching them?'
But I said none of this.
Instead I told her that I was not stupid, that in fact, I had an MBA. (which, honestly, at the time, I didn't. I still had a semester left, but I figured it was close enough).
Luckily, the other assistant came out, pulled me out of the situation and sent me on my break. Where I ran to the hairdresser and begged that they chop off my hair.
Afterward, I walked out and ran into the group who was in line behind the crazy lady. They told me that I had done nothing wrong. And that the lady was probably a nut bag. They even saw the events at the fitting room and said that the guy over there had done nothing wrong either.
I thanked them.
And gave them coupons.
That was just one instance where I used a haircut to lift my mood.
Yesterday I did the most drastic thing I can think of (well, short of going all Britney and shaving my head). I got a pixie cut.
I've been toying with the idea for a while. I was on board. Brad was not. (And yes, he does get a say in how my hair looks-to an extent. When I pointed out that it's 'my hair,' he said that he has to look at it. Fair enough.)
But Saturday it was a high priority topic, that resulted in us stalking a blonde girl around Target (Sorry! Hope you didn't notice us and find us creepy!)
Brad said he would have to see a picture.
Once home I immediately googled 'pixie haircut' and started pointing at Rihanna and Kiera Knightly but not Emma Watson. While hers is cute, it's far too short for me.
He finally gave in.
So on Monday, I walked into the salon looking like this:
And about an hour later, I looked like this:
The back looks like this:
There are other photos in the salon, but I was making some really dumb faces. Also, hello freckles!
Anyway, this should keep me occupied for the next few weeks. Let's just hope nothing traumatic happens because I don't have much hair left to cut off!