No one ever said Grenada was going to be fair. That's the phrase my friends and I came up with in the house after all of the mishaps we've had since we've lived on the island. And let me tell you, we've had our fair share!
Here's a fun one- getting your hair done. I ususally go to this woman down the street who was trained in Canada and does a pretty good job. She's no Rebecca (my hairstylist from back home), but she's aiight. I'm usually happy with the final product.
Anyway, the lady down the street was on vacation and I was in DESPERATE need of a hair cut and color. So, Todd showed me a flyer on his school's website of a salon down by our grocery store. "What can it hurt to try a new place?" I thought. Famous last words.
I made the appointment for 8 am on Saturday morning. I showed up on time. They did not. I had to wait until 815 for them to get there and unlock the doors. Strike one. Then, they asked me what color I would like my hair highlighted with.... I said "blonde." They looked around their shop and said "we don't have any blonde." Strike two. Hmmm..... so the hairdresser sent her receptionist out to get some. She returns with a box of Garnier Fructise blonde hair dye..... Strike 3....... Most people would leave after strike 3, but ever optomistic about the outcome, I stay.
She proceeds to do my hair and starts grabbing random chunks and putting the dye in, all the while reading the back of the garnier color box. (she must have read that thing for like 20 minutes). I have seen my hair highlighted a million times and I can tell you with absolute certainty that it was the WORST technique I have ever seen. And by worst technique, I mean NONE. I knew it was going to be a disaster..... and yet, I still sat there. Then, she proceeds to drop dye all over my white linen pants and back of my tank top. I said "how am I supposed to get that out?" and she said "Oh, it will come out." Yeah, bleach a tank top and it will "come out." Ok.
Then we get to the haircutting. She pulls out these large, black scissors and I'm thinking, "you can't be serious." But she is! No hair shears, just big, black scissors. I asked for her to trim the "minimal amount possible" as I'm trying to grow it really long. To her, that must have translated as a 2-3 inch hack job, because that's what I got. The whole time I was waiting for Ashton Kutcher or Jamie Kennedy to pop out, but they were nowhere to be found. MTV boiling points? Nope, not them either. This was REAL, folks.
The kicker is, I actually tipped her. I'm too much of a wimp. After she was finished, (I could tell this was clearly her first experience coloring euro-american hair) she said, "you like it???" The hope in her eyes was priceless. I had to tip. Gosh I'm a wuss.
