I can’t call the hairdresser

My absolute hatred of using the phone to make calls is playing havoc with my hair. It’s not that I’m twisting my hair anxiously while I’m trying to pluck up the courage to make a call (I am) and it’s not that the fear has reached the point where it’s falling out but it’s stopping me from having it cut.

I hate talking on the phone but my very worst thing is calling people I don’t know.  To top that off calling people I don’t know to make appointments for myself is so heinous that I don’t actually do it. Or at least I try not to unless it’s essential to my son, my husband or my health. Hairdressers don’t fall into the essential category.

The only way I’ve managed to keep my hair so beautiful *coughs* until now is because of social media. The last hairdresser I had I managed to make the initial appointment on Twitter, God I love technology.

Once I’m at the hairdresser I just book another appointment for 6 weeks later and that way it’s easy. No phone calls involved. I ignore the phone when they call to confirm but I always respond to the text. God I love text.

But then that hairdresser turned my hair a dark shade of blue and was indignant when I wasn’t thrilled. The next time I had my hair cut by him I think he played with the scissors behind my back for a while and charged me the deposit on an apartment in the Eastern suburbs so I decided it was time to leave.

The problem with the first appointment at a new hairdresser for a phone phobe like me is not finding the right person, but making the appointment. And so I did what any right-minded person with an internet connection and a hatred for phones would do – I went online.

I logged on to the website of the hairdresser I thought I wanted to try and almost leapt with joy to find they had a contact form on their page. It was clear they wanted to be contacted electronically.
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My heart deflated when it informed me all the fields were compulsory and the phone format would not work because clearly this website was bought as a package created by Americans who wanted the format ### ### ###. I couldn’t get my number to fit that format.

Ever resilient and resourceful I sent an actual email and began my wait. Three days passed and my hair was starting to look like Rapunzel, my email inbox remained empty. Hairdressers don’t seem to love electronic communication as much as I do, which must be why they always insist on chatting to you.

You know that point you get to when you have decided you need a hair cut and it becomes so urgent you can think of nothing else? I was at that point.

But I still wasn’t at the point where I could pick up the phone and speak to a stranger. But I could speak to my friend Kerri and grow a little envious when she told me she was going to the hairdresser the next day. I imagined the joy of having someone who wouldn’t make my hair blue and who would be contactable by text.

As I whinged to Kerri about my predicament she offered me a brilliant solution. She was meant to be having a colour and a cut but she only wanted the colour – essentially she offered me her hair cut! And the very best part of it was that she was going to arrange it all and just send me a text with the details.

Now I just need to find someone who is meant to be having their eyebrows waxed but has decided to just have them coloured instead.