It was us. We were the bad customers.
Took Mal, who is 16 months old, for his first haircut. I knew it would be stressful because the kid is very wary of strangers trying to touch him, and because he comes from a long line of extremely stubborn men. But he looked shaggy, and not in a cute hippie-baby way. And he was fed and rested, so I tried.
So we go to Great Clips, and the lady there was very sweet. I held him on my lap, and she set to work.
Cue the screaming. It was like she was cutting out his heart in some Aztec ritual, not trimming his hair. The screaming, and the howling, and the tears, and the flailing. He smacked me in the face, kicked me, kicked the lady, swatted her hands away, tried to snatch the scissors, arched him back and tried to fling himself to the floor. No distraction worked. Big Brother playing peekaboo didn't work. The other salon lady trying to talk to him didn't work. The stylist, bless her heart, put a Mickey Mouse video on her smartphone for him (I don't have a smartphone, and I could have told her he is oblivious to anything on a screen, but it was worth a shot). She managed to get it shortened, it's crooked as hell but I wasn't going to put her or the other clients (all young men- we live near a college- who were giving us some serious side-eye) through all that.
She said they guarantee their cuts so if I wanted to bring him back later she could try to even it out. Honey, he can stay uneven. I may never go back there myself, it was so embarrassing. I gave her a $10 tip on an $11 haircut and fled into the snow with both boys.
Never again.
Took Mal, who is 16 months old, for his first haircut. I knew it would be stressful because the kid is very wary of strangers trying to touch him, and because he comes from a long line of extremely stubborn men. But he looked shaggy, and not in a cute hippie-baby way. And he was fed and rested, so I tried.
So we go to Great Clips, and the lady there was very sweet. I held him on my lap, and she set to work.
Cue the screaming. It was like she was cutting out his heart in some Aztec ritual, not trimming his hair. The screaming, and the howling, and the tears, and the flailing. He smacked me in the face, kicked me, kicked the lady, swatted her hands away, tried to snatch the scissors, arched him back and tried to fling himself to the floor. No distraction worked. Big Brother playing peekaboo didn't work. The other salon lady trying to talk to him didn't work. The stylist, bless her heart, put a Mickey Mouse video on her smartphone for him (I don't have a smartphone, and I could have told her he is oblivious to anything on a screen, but it was worth a shot). She managed to get it shortened, it's crooked as hell but I wasn't going to put her or the other clients (all young men- we live near a college- who were giving us some serious side-eye) through all that.
She said they guarantee their cuts so if I wanted to bring him back later she could try to even it out. Honey, he can stay uneven. I may never go back there myself, it was so embarrassing. I gave her a $10 tip on an $11 haircut and fled into the snow with both boys.
Never again.

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