The Way the hair is SUPPOSED to Look (Cute grandson, right?)
After the prescribed time the guy’s girlfriend tells him to go wash out the color creamer. He does so and towels off in front of the mirror. To his shock he sees that his hair color is now Crayola yellow. He looks like a human canary, a tweety bird man, a living cartoon.
“Hey! What the heck did you do to my hair!” he yells coming out of the bathroom.
His girlfriend is equally flabbergasted and defensively explains, “The store didn’t have the same brand, but it says it’s the same color on the box—golden blonde! I don’t understand!”
“Well, there’s no way I can go out looking like this. Get the scissors. I’m going to take it all off and start over.”
“No way!" She objects. "I like you with hair. I’ll call my hairdresser friend and see if she’s got something we can use at her house."
She makes a call and out the door she goes. In 30 minutes she returns with a premixed bowl of what she calls coffee brown hair color. “Sit down, I’ll put this in,” she orders.
He shrugs sitting, “Okay, well I guess it can’t get any worse than the way it looks now.” (Oh yeah, you think so, eh? heh heh)
As she applies the brownish cream, now the problem is that the guy’s scalp feels like its on fire. The chemicals in the mix are meant for a single application, not two doses in two hours. He can barely sit still as she combs on the caustic cream. He’s a man, a tough guy, so he tries to keep the groans down to a dull roar (with only the occasional whimper).
To take his mind off the pain he attempts to get lost in a game of Bookworm, and it works because soon she tells him it’s time to shampoo again. The warm shower water reactivates the pain in his scalp. Once again he barely contains the groans. His hair is now stiff with chemicals, so he tries a couple applications of his girlfriend’s cream rinse. It doesn’t seem to do much except to make a big thick puddle of white foam all over the shower floor. With a combination of hope and dread he finishes toweling off and takes a look in the bathroom mirror.
“Oh HELL NO!” he yells.
His hair is now a stunningly bright strawberry red. A red that would make Conan Obrien proud, however pride was the last thing that this guy felt.
“Oh my God! Look at it! It’s RED! It’s not just red, it’s doll hair RED!”
XXXXXXXXX From Canary Yellow to Strawberry Red!
His girlfriend, feeling that all this is her fault, moans, jumps into bed, pulls the covers over her head, and cries out how sorry she is.
The guy begins to see the humor in all this and laughingly declares, “Okay, that’s it; where’s the scissors? I’m taking it off!”
Jumping out of the bed she proclaims loudly and insistently, “No WAY! I’ll take you first thing tomorrow to the salon at Robinson’s and get them to fix it.”
“But I’ve got appointments lined up tomorrow morning. I can’t wait around all morning while they mess with my hair. Come on, let me cut it off. It’ll grow back in a couple months.”
She insists that bald is out of the question, so the guy texts his counterpart and explains the ridiculous details. His cohort is mildly amused and agrees to hold the fort.
The next morning, before the place is even open for business the guy and his girlfriend show up and become the salon’s first customers of the day. A male hairdresser has a card display with all the color possibilities. It looks promising. The guy points out the color he’d like—it’s a shade of brownish blonde, the color he normally goes for.
The attendant says it should only take 30 to 45 minutes and soon is applying the chemicals. The burning is almost more than he can bare. After a while the pain mostly recedes and he settles in for a wait. After 15 minutes it looks promising. In the mirror he can see that the doll hair red is now turning to brown with blond highlights.
“Hey, this might work after all!” he remarks to his girlfriend now taking the opportunity to get a manicure. She smiles and nods back happily.
However, more minutes tick by and the guy can see that his hair is now turning almost black before his eyes. He gulps in consternation. “Hey, you guys, its getting too dark. I don’t want it dark. Do you hear? NOT TOO DARK, okay?”
The young fellow managing the color treatment takes a look, “But Sir, the roots are still red; it needs more time.” He adds more color and more minutes go by.
Its been well over an hour and the guy is sick to his stomach at what he now sees. He knows his hair is now going to be an unnatural dark brown and there’s nothing that can be done about it. He grits his teeth and shakes his head.
The shampoo process is every bit as agonizing as the initial application. Back in the chair the hair color attendant examines the finished product and in Tagalog remarks to the guy's girlfriend about the “sugat” all over the guy’s scalp. (sugat means bleeding sores or wounds) The three doses of acid like chemicals in the space of half a day have caused areas on the guy’s scalp to split open and seep blood, not to mention that the entire scalp is red with irritation.
But the real agony for the guy begins the moment he sees his hair. It’s atrocious. The color doesn’t come close to that promised from the sample card. It is now a blackish brownish shade from salon hell. He slams his cap back on and stalks out of the salon.
Xx Can You Believe I PAID for that color? Now what?
xxx xxxXXxxxxx The "Fix" is "On" that's What!
“Well, it’s barely better than that nasty red, but I’m still wearing this cap everywhere I go,” he tells his girlfriend irritably. “I just hope you didn’t pay too much for that, because they SUCK!”
Yup, all that happened to "that guy" .... the poor bastard.XXXXXXXNothing he can do about the face though! Ugh!