I walked in and no one was there; rather, she was off outside and came in angry. It was a Saturday, so there was plenty of college games on; the only good thing in a sea of bad times.
My stylist just sort of glared at me when I said I needed a quarter-inch trim, then proceeded to work in silence while I watched a Florida game. Which was good. I then ended up looking like a balding six-year-old. Not good. I paid my $17 (she sold the MVP in the way a person would try to advertise cholera, I avoided it) and got out. At least my hair's regrowing...