GIRL RANT, gentlemen talk amongst yourselves…

Monday evening…

And so the day before I set out on a 13 to 16 hour flight (depending on your time zone) (in any case I must rise at 0500 hours, and will not be abed until midnight) I made appointments for hair, manicure and pedicure at Dessange; the things that make a woman feel more inclined to a sixteen hour flight that has the possibilities of my bags ending in New Delhi, the chance of a seat mate who has not bathed recently or who takes up more room than allowed on the ticket, the possibility of no leg room, screaming babies, and screaming adults. I am thinking relaxation yes?

Not today! I arrive to have the young woman at the desk say, “Your appointment is for three yes?”

“No, my appointments are for twelve; for hair, a manicure, and a pedicure. I went to some trouble to be certain the appointments were set up correctly.” At the time last week when I made these appointments, Muss the magical hairdresser whom I love, acted as my interpreter. I have specific people I want for my appointments and again, went to some trouble to be sure their names were there on the book.

In fairness they did get me right in for my color and Muss did the “brushing” for my hair; which as always was marvelous. But now it is almost two o’clock and I am still waiting for a manicurist. When she arrived, it was not Inane whom I had asked for, but some child they have just hired. I could have done a better job myself, and I am terrible at it, which is why I go to the salon! Now I will have to book a salon in Canada to repair the nail color. Grrrr.

This I could have taken in stride, but then when I go to the desk, after securing a hair masque to take along on the trip, I am told, “Oh no Madame the machine is broken (the credit card machine).”

I will tell you that was the straw, the last coin, the shot, et. al. that did it. My temper exposed itself, not a lot, but in the ‘pissed’ category rather than rage – which I CAN do but try to keep in reserve for more important matters. I knew no one could understand me so it gave me some freedom to let it fly in English, but I do think they got the intent. After about twenty minutes of this and that I said, “You have five minutes. Make a decision, I’m leaving. I have an airplane to catch.”

In the end the manager gave me the bill to sign, with the agreement that when I return I will come in to pay the bill. I explained I would be gone until November, but by this time I really think he was properly aware that my temper COULD get worse. I signed, I left. Q was on AIM so I ranted to her, and now you – I feel better, and I’m done. Thank you for listening. ☺

Ciao.