Yesterday I went to my hairdresser in a nearby town who when I arrived was
engaged in a conversation with a co-worker—the hairdresser working at the next station.
A nod of hello to me, she continued to talk with her co-worker, while using her hands to signal that I should sit in the shampoo chair which I did.
I submitted to a head-washing that made me think
she had a dog at home that she bathed rigorously in the family bathtub.
As some people do when washing a head and find themselves
distracted, she kept returning to the same place behind my right ear, and I
fought the urge to say “Woof!!
Woof!” for I had never felt more
like a dog in the hands of an animal groomer.
Because I like dogs this did not offend me.
What did offend me was my hairdresser wasting her opportunity to earn more money, for I know
something that my hairdresser doesn’t know:
she is better at her job than many other hairdressers I have tried, but
other hairdressers with lesser skills have a more cultivated and refined
professional personae than she evidences. They charge more
for their work, and they get much better tips because the environment where
they work requires good manners and a professional personae.
The skills of creating and using that personae are not out
of anyone’s reach for they are based in simple courtesy: greet the customer, ask and answer questions
according to what the customer needs and wants to know, be present in the
experience (perhaps humbly or flexibly present), and smile often and
generously. Thank the customer for
coming in and say, “I’ll look forward to seeing you next time!”
My hairdresser didn’t do any of that though I gave her ample
opportunity. The only question she asked
was: “Whatcha want today?”
I replied, “You have always given me an excellent haircut,
but today I hope that the lengths in back can be evened up to simply one length, and I would prefer that my bangs not be shorter than my eyebrows.”
She gave me a superior haircut while her attention flitted
back to her pal-co-worker, and their exchanges were like cheerleaders who band
together and exclude other people who have come to the game. They talked about other customers. They talked about an absent co-worker who had
called in sick, and they knew for a fact she was hung over. It is not an uncommon dynamic in various
places about town where you go to do business.
People at work often talk among themselves, and pretend that the
customers are deaf, invisible—or simply not there.
Yesterday at the beauty shop, another customer was sitting with perm
rollers in her hair and her head wrapped in a long string of cotton to keep the
fluid from trailing down into her eyes and down her back, and she tried to
enter their conversation to no avail. We
were adult customers but we were treated like children who should be seen and
not heard. We were customers who were
handled efficiently but could have been handled better, and if we had been the
tips would have increased and our willingness to recommend their services to
others would be more often expressed.
The business would thrive.
I will most likely go back to my hairdresser because she gives a good
haircut, but I grieve for her future, which could be so much more prosperous
than it is in the small town where she works hard all day long to deliver
low-priced haircuts and earn the low wages and proportionately small tips that come with it. Her work deserves the kind of price and profits other hairdressers earn with better manners in better beauty shops but don't cut hair as well as she does. She could have more money and a brighter future, if she knew. I want it for
her. All she needs to do is learn better
manners and use them.
The discipline of
courtesy can flesh out a professional personae that will take anyone farther in life than bonding with your co-workers while customers sit quietly
in your presence.
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