The Time I Absolutely Lost It

When I came back from Taiwan, my adventurous brother Todd picked me up in his Winnebago (house on wheels), and took Dave Holly and I out Skydiving. It was amazing, it was like the feeling of putting your hand out the car window on the freeway. You really do feel like you're flying, and have no "falling" sensation (like you would on a roller coaster). If it wasn't the view of the ground getting bigger and bigger, you wouldn't even know you were going from high to low. Exhilarating. Absolutely.

The best part? It was brainless. You only have one cord to pull, once. I even landed on my feet (later found out that most people do-- once again, brainless). So brainless that my brother Dave, who prior was a deputy sheriff, didn't even confront the skydiving guide we were tandem to for being drunk.

Side note on Dave: He had spotted drunk people so many times that testing drunk people became the entertainment that balanced an otherwise very stressful job. The Grannis in him allowed them to try and prove their sobriety in the tests -- you know the ones, walk in a straight line, recite the alphabet without singing or pausing, finger to nose etc. Why not?

So, my point: apparently, some jobs have been done while drunk. Although I think you'd agree nobody should ever be allowed to clock in drunk.

And I am the naive one in the Grannis family (which is usually okay when you're the youngest of the 7 very protective siblings).

Let's just say when I first met last night's hairdresser, I should've known something was up when he started to try to sell me a thousand other packages and told me point blank "Girl, your hair needs it. It looks like ****". I played along, and told him I had the same feelings about his hair. I thought that was an interesting ice breaker. Then he puts the foils in, while dragging on and on about how famous he is in hair coloring, and how he'd gained his fame over the past 15 years (over-confident, another sign of being plastered-- another "Q" that passed right over my head). He was from Singapore, and thought he was above the average Chinese population (I knew right then we weren't going to get along). When he finally wiped out the hair drying machine and looked in my eyes, I smelled it.

Are you serious?? Did I just let a drunk guy foil my hair?! WHAT!!!???

It was too late. The guy washing out the foils confirmed the colorist was hammered. He came over after the washing, blow dried my bangs, and said "I'm fast, aren't I? Okay, my shift is over. Bye. I'll see you in 6 weeks."

Then when the other girl (whose hair cut was supposed to be around $10 US) continued blow drying, there were so many brown/yellow spots, I just started laughing. I swear I needed some kind of medication to knock me out. I really was going crazy. You ever have those moments where as the victim of Murphy's Law you can do nothing but laugh out loud like a lunatic? Oh was it a show for the on-lookers. Which were many. I was just about the last client in the building, that was fully staffed that night. And in Asian culture, it's perfectly okay to stare. And that's just what happened. Then they started laughing too. My hair really was jacked up for a high-end "American" salon. Then, in their native tongue, I ask "you all know he's wasted?" They laugh again. Then comes the part when the original laughter (me) who instigated the congregational laugh stops laughing and glares at everyone. A bit of silence in the room. Okay, awkward silence.

Then I just want to get out of there. Before I start throwing jars of hair wax. I'd gotten there at 5:15, I was hungry, it wasn't a good time of the month for such things to be happening (you caught that, didn't you?), and I had a hot date that could make everything all better.

I tell them I have a date with Tim for the Olympics Soccer game at 9:00 PM, and I need to go. Of course, at that point Murphy's Law attacks again: I'm matched up with a 1.5 hour hair cut. Seriously. Then she says what every hair dresser says to every new client (no offense to my beautiful sister and sister-in-law who are professionals in this area) "who cut your hair last? It's so uneven!!" Don't they know, I could care less about hair cuts. I mean, sheesh lady, at this point, get out the Tupperware bowl and scotch tape-- I'm done here!

I get ready to pay, and they tell me that "Betty", who cut my hair was actually $20 US. Okay, if there is one straw that will break this camel's back, it has to be someone sneaking in a higher price than the original quote. I had it! That was it! It was already past 9:00 PM, and I'd missed the game with Tim. I broke down, and in front of the whole front desk crew asked them if they knew colorist was drunk, and they all smiled and shook their heads like it was totally fine. I took out my wallet, clearly unhappy, and like a raging maniac starting throwing the red Chinese bills across the desk and in the air. That probably sounds worse than it was.

They told me I could come back and have someone else fix the color problem. I told them that not only was I never coming back, but neither were any of my hundreds of American friends. I only have one other friend that goes there, I guess I'll have to work on my bluffing skills.

I storm out the door, and girlfriend Betty follows me holding on to my shoulders. I withold my feminine relfelx to shoot out a WWF-style flying-elbow. And politely say in Chinese "Please don't touch me."

So now it's the morning after. I feel awful. I think if I'd remained calm, I would have seen the real picture. This foreign hairdresser perhaps demeaned the locals and they were just down-right too intimidated by him to confront him. It's not exactly the whole salon's fault for not sending the guy home. And I do believe they really wanted to make their customers happy.

And now I need to collect myself and tell them that me and my hundreds of friends (aka my next door neighbor) will still come to their salon.

Just maybe next time I'll use a different colorist, one that passes the finger to nose test.