Email to my friend, Allie, about a client we have:
A-
We have a ton of difficult clients in the salon and even more that see Pat for hair loss. Luckily, those clients generally only make a handful of visits, a bucketful at most (taha), and then we never have to see them again. I can only hope that this is the case with this woman. To begin, she calls the salon and wants to speak with Pat. I tell her Pat is with a client, but I would be more than happy to try and help her. She wants to come in for a consultation for a wig. I ask her name, and she simply says, "******." And I say, "I apologize ma'am, I must have missed your first name." "You don't need it." "Ok, could I please get your telephone number?" "Why?" "In case we need to contact you between now and your appointment." "Fine, blah blah numbers blah blah." "Fantastic. Thank you, and we look forward to seeing you at blah blah blah."
Day of the appointment. She comes in wearing the most distasteful, I pray to God it wasn't Chanel, not dark enough to be navy suit, with the tackiest gold weaved like a rope (do you know what I'm talking about???) and pearl earrings, and a stupid sunhat, beneath which lay what may as well have been roadkill that she picked up and plopped on her stupid ninny head. Accompanying her are who I presumed to be her daughter and grandson. Her daughter is sporting a shirt with a stain on it, an ill fitting hippie skirt, and knock off Birkenstocks (I shit you not.) I cannot remember what her grandson even looks like, so needless to say, he must be some variety of unremarkable 7 year old boy who, by the end of the consultation, will have made it apparent that he is not adopted and has inherited his grandmother and mother's poor taste and rudeness.
We greet them, offer them a beverage, and ask Hildebitch (as Sarah has so aptly named her) to fill out a new client form. As I know you know from your many trips to different spas and salons and doctors offices, filling out a form on the first visit is not only customary but expected. Personally, I would be mildly concerned if I was not asked to fill one out, especially if I'm about to drop a pretty penny on something to cover my barren wasteland of a head. She, of course, refuses and demands to know why she would be asked to fill that out. Sarah, luckily employed by some other task, leaves me to stammer over an explanation which need not be given as FILLING THE FORM OUT AND THE REASON BEHIND IT ARE LOGICAL. Pat proceeds to take her down to her end of the salon and I pray that they decide this place simply will not do. To no avail and thirty minutes later, the prayers are halted abruptly, when Hildebitch and her grandson meander past the desk to view the wig Pat has asked her to try on in a different light. The grandson proclaims "Grandma, that looks nothing like you! I can't even recognize you." Sarah mutters, "Shut the fuck up," in the same breath that I say, "I'm going to slap you, you little brat," and we continue to pretend to be occupied so as not to draw attention from Pat and Hildebitch. After baited breath, we watch them pass back down the hall sans incident.
The daughter appears out of fucking left field and demands to know which product with prevent her ponytailed, in need of attention desperately, ugly ass hair from frizzing. I ask, "Tell me a little more about what you are looking for in this product. Do you want something for moisture or with a little hold or to put on when your hair is wet or dry...?" She fails to answer anything and just asks again, "I don't want frizz." I point out a product to her, and she says "I have this." I ask if she uses it when her hair is wet or dry. "Damp." "If you put it on when your hair is dry on the roots through the ends, it will add moisture and reduce frizz." "Ok." *walks away.* Luckily, when Hildegarde and company return to the desk, I am otherwise occupied. I was told that when Pat offered her a certain day and time, she said, "No. I will come Saturday at 1:00pm," and proceeded to leave. Later, I learn that this woman is the head of the board at ******* and, according to Pat, could buy "the whole block in a second." Over drinks, Sarah and I discuss how much entitled rich people suck cock.
Sarah, while I have been writing this email, has texted me to tell me that "Hildebitch is here and came to the desk and said 'I'm going to the back, and I'd like some lunch.'" I replied that "She can follow suit, and drop dead like the Wino." (In reference to our conversation about Amy Winehouse, who in case you have not heard, has, indeed, dropped dead.) I have also just been informed that she has ordered an $18 salad from 29 Newbury, a restaurant which does not deliver, and expects one of the girls to pick it up and pay for it.
*Update from Sarah: "Pat thinks shit like this is ok. She's like 'What? 3% of our country lives that way.' And I told her I think it's sinful and disgusting, and she walked away." ..... I knew I always liked Sarah.
**Update from Sarah: "She made Kyra open her salad for her because she 'didn't know how.' She was like 'Aren't you going to help me with this?' when Kyra set the salad down. Kyra goes, 'Well usually when people need help with something, they ask.'" .... andddd I knew I always liked Kyra
In conclusion, let us always be well-mannered regardless of how wealthy we become. It is a far better and more respectable color than not-even-navy bitch blue. Also, let us never live in Florida. I just cannot understand why anyone with that much money would live in such a simpleton state.
-M
