Most of you who read this blog are aware of my ridiculous allergy to dyes of all sorts. You also know that I've had many troubles finding a salon that doesn't leave my head in shambles.
In T-Town, I had finally found my place. My salon. My colorist. My product. (Aveda.)
She was so wonderful, careful. And, the product only slightly discomforted my scalp.
Last night, I attempted to go to a new place up in the Mitten State. I searched online for Aveda salons close to home. The closest ended up being about a half-hour away. Not too bad, I thought.
I walked in to an all-Albanian staff. (Odd? Yes. But also quite interesting.) The woman and her assistant proceeded to foil me up - hearing all about my allergy rants but not ever quite listening. I could tell they didn't take it very seriously.
Sitting aside, waiting for the color to delve into my roots, I noticed my head burning a bit. I awkwardly interupted an Albanians-only conversation to notify them that I could tell my allergy was acting up. They said they'd be right with me. I sat there for an additional 10 minutes.
I became more angry with every second that passed.
She finally rinsed me. Dried me. Took me to the register where I paid an exorbent amount of money for a service that proved to be far less than noteworthy. To top it off, I'm pretty sure my head will soon be turning into a massive mess of unsightly scabs and burns. (It usually takes a day or two to do so.)
I am frustrated my friends. Very frustrated.