In which I put on my big girl knickers...

Confrontation can be... well... confronting for me.

Actually, that's not completely true. Surprisingly, if I get wound up enough, getting really angry and tearing someone a new asshole is pretty easy, I dont't have that thing where you walk away and suddenly think of all the things you wish you'd said, I tend to walk away thinking, "Oh, wow, you made the truckie cry, maybe you should have gone a bit easier". What I find hard is to find that middle ground between being a avenging Fury, and meekly accepting something you're not happy with.

Assertiveness, I believe it's called.

And so today, I am strutting around quite proud of myself, because I have finally put on my big girl knickers and faced an awkward situation, and confronted my hairdresser.

While all my female readers let out a knowing, "Ahhhh...", let me explain for any male readers out there.  Hairdressers are like priests, you find yourself confessing secrets and chatting away about very intimate subjects (like, just today; sex, body image, weight loss, miscarriage and celebrity fake tans) and when you find a good one, you will go to extreme measures to stay with them.

I have been bereft of a good hairdresser relationship since I moved from Brisbane ot the Gold Coast, and so was thrilled when I turned up for an appointment today at a new salon. The vibe was welcoming and stylish, with a homespun feel (the salon is a converted house, the flowers were fresh and the CD playing was Megan Washington, i.e. perfect). I was further thrilled when I immediately 'clicked' with my haidresser, B, and we were soon chatting away like old mates.

So, when I left not feeling like I had got my money's worth, I was a little shattered. I have quite dark black hair at the moment, after a short-lived fascination with wanting to look like a Latina bombshell,

Sofia Vergara

and want to start going lighter, as I have been most of my adult life, ending up something like this...

Jane Allsop

Obviously, this will be a bit of a process... "It won't happen overnight" etc. Still, I did think after dropping THREE HUNDRED DOLLARS at the hairdresser, I might see a noticable difference! I know it a massive amount of money, but this was my little reclamation of my 'old self' and my treat to myself, a little luxury and pampering now that I am working and slogging my guts out during the week. Plus, I am starting to feel more like my old self, not the dark, stressed girl of late, so want my outside to reflect that too.

Anyhoo, enough validating. When we had finished at the salon, I was pretty dissapointed to see that, yes, my hair was a bit lighter overall, but not so noticeably so. I had expected, after our discussion in the beginning, that I would see more caramel pieces, rather than just an being a slightly lighter shade overall.

I brought it up at the time, but admittedly in a fairly wishy washy way. I had come to really like B, and I hoped to become a regular of the salon, so I didn't really want to rock the boat too much, or make her think I was mean, or unappreciative. Is it just me or does it seem slightly silly that I am comfortable paying so much money out for something as ultimately trivial as hair, but I can't have a grown-up conversation and say I'm not particularly happy about a service?

Anyway, B assured me that as my hair dried, I would see it actually is a fair bit lighter. I am really happy with the cut she gave me, and my hair feels lovely after the treatement, so I swallow my reservations (hey, maybe that's the real reason we put on weight???), thnak her, pay my staggering bill and leave.

Half an hour later, I feel terrible. I go to my Aunt's house to pick up GG and notice her surprise that I spent 4 hours at the hairdresser and still look essentially the same. I check out my now dry hair in the mirror and yep, I can notice it's a little lighter, but just barely.,

By now I feel awful, regretful, horrified at the amount of money I had spent and hating myself for not speaking up. I really wanted to go back in time, or else go home and eat chocolate and pretend it never happened.

Instead, I slapped myself upside the head and gave myself a stern talking to. "Quixotic, you are a grown woman. You are smart, accomplished and resourceful. Stop acting like an insecure teenager, and get your 33-year old butt back there and tell them you appreciate the effort she made, love the cut, but feel you haven't got value for money, and want either half your money back, or another head of foils for free.".

Feeling absolutely terrified, I front back up to the salon. B sees me and grins, heading toward me with a questioning look.

OhGodOhGodOhGodOhGodOhGodOhGodOhGodOhGodOhGodOhGodOhGod

I feel 3 inches tall, but the thought of all the things I could have done with $300 dollars keeps me from trilling maniacally "Just forgot a card!" and bolting out the door to safety.

I gather up all my courage and speak... I tell her this is incredibly awkward for me, I love what she's done, but for the amount of money I paid, I would have liked to see a more noticable difference. I smile. I giggle a little bit hysterically (so shoot me) but essentially keep it together.

B is an angel, She stays calm, and friendly, brings her manager over and asks me exactly what I'm unhappy with.

I am dying, plus now I have another person present, but swallow hard and again re-iterate that I love my cut, and am happy with what she's done so far, but would've expected to see more of a difference.

B explains exactly what she did for me, and the manager agrees that yes, that's what she would have done, but also agrees my hair colour doesn't look that different.

I tell them I understand not everyone's hair reacts the same to colouring, but nonetheless, I would like to see more of a difference.

B suggests another head of foils in a few days, with a more 'piece-y' look and some caramel highlights.

I resist the urge to tongue-kiss B.

The manager agrees and I book another appointment, feeling a rush of happiness that I have actually acted like a grown-up, proper big girl and calmly and assertively solved a problem, rather than just slink home and dump a bottle of peroxide through my hair and avoid ever going within a 10km radius of that salon again.

B even thanked me for coming back, because she'd have hated for me to just leave it and be unhappy with her work, now she gets a chance to give me what I want.

REALLY resist the urge to tongue-kiss B.

I felt empowered, magnificent and not a tiny bit proud of myself. I was also IMMENSELY pleased with the great service and professionalism B and her manager showed. They have a brand new regular that's for sure!

The best part of all this? That GG was with me during the whole conversation, and got to see a woman stand up for herself, confront a problem calmly and assertively and get a result, all without being overly dramatic, passive-agressive, abusive or shouty. Win/win all round!

Geoffrey? You're on the list!

You know what? Screw you Toys R Us.

You heard me.

Today, after an almost farcical amount of evidence that I shouldn't have bothered getting out of bed today, I dragged a tired 2 year old all through Pacific Fair (a shopping centre roughly the size of Albuquerque) to the only Toys R Us on the Gold Coast. They had been advertising a trampoline and safety net enclosure discounted from $460 to $199. Given that GG will jump and bounce on anything slightly springier than concrete (and even that at a pinch), this was an opportunity not to be missed. Given that we are still in our own personal Financial Crisis, as well as the Global one, the plan is to lay-by it, pay it off over the next few months and have it ready for her birthday.

So I fight the crowds and madness, find the right display, and grab a ticket. Then I look for the lay-by counter. And look. And look. I finally get the attention of an elusive staff member. Note I distinctly DO NOT say customer service member. I ask said staff member where I might arrange a lay-by. I am smugly informed "We don't do that", in the same tone as if I had asked him to crap on the floor.

"What?" My pithy reply.

"Nope".

"Seriously?"

"Yup".

"Why on earth not? Don't you enjoy business?"

"Sweety, (grrrrrrr) if you knew, you know that offering lay-by eats massively into your business. We haven't done lay-by since 6 years ago, when 70% of our items lay-by'd for Christmas weren't even picked up."

Now, my first thought was "Gee, if people are paying for stuff and then not collecting it, wouldn't you have MORE money? You know, since you could then go ahead and sell that same item?". But clearly, being female, I couldn't possibly have the slightest clue. But I'm still slightly stunned, so I just snap, "Oh, you only care about profit, not the increased revenue gained by greater patronage from offering customer service. Good to know." I may have also called him a wanker as I walked away.

So, another addition to "THE LIST", an irrefutable document of all persons, companies and yes, countries that have raised my ire. When I assume the throne, you will be the first to be annihilated.

I'm sure that in the golden reality of the decision-makers at Toys R Us, $200 is an amount easily accessed by parents of young children the week before Christmas. I'm also sure that to them, GFC stands for Greater Funds Coming. Who cares about offering a service that might actually help out those of us who try and be a bit financially responsible, and don't spend our grocery money on toys for the kids? If you just refuse to help, they'll find a way themselves (which I did) and then we won't have to pay for additional staff and storage costs. Money-grubbing bastards. I really wish I could have been proud enough to say "Screw you!! I'll pay another, more helpful company MORE money, just so I get the satisfaction of taking a sale away from you!". But of course, a great deal is a great deal, and money-tight parents don't have the luxury of principles. Which, of course, is exactly what they count on.

Oh, and by the way, the sass-fabulous Daffy at Batcrap Crazy, has decorated me with one of her very own Awards, the Blogger with Attitude Award. Haven't the foggiest as to why. :oP

Luckily, this award comes with no rules whatsoever, which is good, because I'm feeling rebellious anyway.

Some observations...

Dear Robina Shopping Centre Management,

After visiting your fine mega-shopping complex in order to complete my Christmas shopping, I would like to offer the following observations.

1. Thank you for installing the snazzy little parks assist light dealies in the new parking lot. It certainly does make life easier. Especially when you zoom 3 aisles over 'cos you see a green "vacant" light, only to find a freakin motorcycle (which evidently does not set off the switch to "occupied") parked there.

2. I fail to see how me moving said motorcycle to a handy unobstrusive spot can be wrong. Or how say, after 2 hours of looking for a park, pushing it off the 3rd level balcony would also be wrong.

3. Compliments on the renovations and expansion. I'm sure the new Myer store will be awesome. One does wonder however, at the intelligence of closing a large and popular parking lot during construction of said Myer store, just in time for the holiday season.

4. Speaking of questionable intelligence, where do you find your holiday casual retail staff? Is there a bank of them somewhere, kept locked away the rest of the year, allowed out only to renew and multiply their piercings, audition for reality tv shows and attend court dates?

5. Surely it can't be illiegal to run down the middle aged blonde, so totally absorbed in texting on her mobile that she hasn't looked up for 2 full minutes, and making a beeline straight for your fully laden shopping trolley. Surely it's like shipping laws, the more manouverable vessel must yield? No??

6. Just to satisfy the conspiracy theorist in me... is it at all possible that you employed some Machiavellian retail-psychology based scheme in construction of your shopping centre, ensuring that every store most likely to be required a visit, must be located as far as humanly possible from each other, in order to have poor lemming-like shoppers walk past as many other, lesser stores, sales, promotional counters and leaflet hander-outers as possible? Also possibly ice cream stores?

I trust you will take these observations in the helpful spirit they are intended, and I look forward to seeing the changes you thus implement as a result on my next visit.

Thank you for your time,

Are you being served?

I wonder what it takes to be a shop assistant these days?

A lobotomy obviously.

The complete lack of desire to engage in any face-to-face interaction. Maybe even the ability to dissappear at will.

Guess what sweety, I came into your store today, ready to buy. Something quite expensive actually (do sales girls still work on commission, or is that just Pretty Woman?). I was the only one on the store but hey, maybe you didn't see me, what with your head stuck so far up your ass.

But I saw you. I saw you texting, fiddling about with your earring (they're not that complicated darling... the pointy bit goes through the hole) and wandering off in the opposite direction every time I tried to catch your eye. Trust me, you were one anger-management lesson away from being crash-tackled into a change room and duct-taped to that bloody register. Don't ask me where your phone ends up in this scenario, you, and your proctologist, won't like it.

So you had to work on a Sunday. Boo Hoo You. I'm sure you'd much rather be sipping lattes with your mates, getting your fake-tan done or finding out the name of last nights random shag (yes, you look the type). But tough shit, you're at work. Or maybe, given it's a small boutique (which I'm sorely tempted to name, but can't seem to remember) it's actually your store, in which case, it would be in your best interest to suck it up, put a smile on that surly dial of yours and wring out some actual service from your cold, hard self before someone not quite as Zen as me reaches for the duct-tape.