The Quick Hair Appointment.

AH YES! The curse of the "quick" hair appointment.
You've booked, explaining you don't have all that much time and just need a quick colour and trim, you've been assured you'll be in and out in less than two hours.

Satisfied that your stylist understands you needs, appreciates that your time is precious AND better spent elsewhere, you arrive and take your seat.
It's all "can I get you a coffee, doll!!!*?" and "would you like a magazine, hon!!!*?" followed by other banal conversation about her aunt's rheumatism and "oh, my GAWD did you see what lady gaga wore last week!!!!!*", while they brush your hair as if you were a dog, pulling clumps out by the roots and saying "Tell me if Im hurting you".
They do this to lull us into a false sense of security and trust.
Finally the colour goes on. 35 minutes. That's all it needs, we know this because we've done it at home. You'll be out of there in an hour! Victory. 

You relax in your seat and ignore the discomfort of the chair (it won't be that long), settle in, drink your coffee and read your magazine.

Then, horror of horrors, the stylist gets a walk in. You're left alone in that chair. You overhear her starting the silly charade all over again with the new girl... You subdue the urge to yell "RUN!!!*", nod and smile at the new victim instead.
The only hint that time has passed is the sneaky feeling you've heard that song not 20 minutes ago and the betraying thought of "I'm pretty sure I've read that magazine already" is whispered inside your head.
Realization sets in - the pain you felt in your buttock area has subsided....You can no longer feel your own bum. The blood has stopped circulating.
Check your phone for messages and time... It's been AN HOUR AND A HALF, and the bitch has ONLY JUST APPLIED THE COLOUR.
Anger now, you needed to be out of here in the next 20 minutes...
Not only that, the dye has somehow spread all over your neck, ears, forehead and there seems to be some on your favorite top and, yes, it's getting darker by the minute.
Disdain now, she's completely stopped checking "If everything's ok", you jumble words around in your mind planning a cutting (Ha. Ha.) remark for when she does eventually remember your existence and comes around, only now on arrival she doesn't bother to ask!

You secretly hope those heels are killing her feet, but wait... Where's she going?! She's buggered off!
She comes back, smelling like food (hot dog, btw, and how the hell can she eat that and stay so thin) and cigarettes... The cow took a 20 minute break! You're angry but also wrestling with the urge to suck her fingers for any trace of nicotine.
"It's developing nicely" she twitters, "We'll rinse in ten", but before you can protest she's off! Gone to chat to the receptionist, and you're any judge probably about how she ralphed her lunch back up because OMG Calories!!!!*

It is now you fully understand that you need to call each one of your appointments and apologize for being an hour late, and that you will be later still, because you need to go home and
remove the stains on your skin with battery acid, that you need to change and throw away your top... but you can't! Your laundry is still at the shop, and they're closed baby!

Trip to the shops looking like a science experiment, anyone?!

Eventually we get to the sink... 20 minutes of pure torture.
Your neck in spasam trying to keep water from gushing down your back, while hot soapy water sloshes like a river into your ears, and the claws scraping over your scalp remove not only the little drandruff you MIGHT have had, but healthy skin too.
Scalding water becomes tepid, tepid becomes cold, and yes, your neck has given up on you and you're now soaked through your nylon bib and shirt. It doesn't matter though, as mentioned above the shirt was ruined hours ago.
Defeat. Utter, dismal, draining defeat sets in. You no longer care, there's nothing you can do to fix this, there's nothing you can do to escape. The only reason you're still allowing this harpy to manhandle your locks and scalp is because she promised to get the stains off your skin. At least that's one thing you don't need to worry about. Right? WRONG!

Finally, looking like you've just survived a monsoon, you toddle back to your chair... The little bit of feeling that returned in your legs vanish as you literally flop back into the chair.
Out comes the nail varnish remover... Only they call it non-acetone, as if we're fooled by that, and it seems the honor of removing said stains has been given to a torturer in training! Oh, FUN!
Out with the 50% cotton, 50% steel wire "cotton wool". They start scrubbing the skin already made soft by washing, you can feel the layers of skin being removed, you SEE the reddened swelling come up and you KNOW that those stains are still there, while healthy happy skin is being stripped away layer by painful layer.
At least you don't need your mild, dermabrating skin peel this month. 

Then! It's back and it's armed with a fine tooth comb and scissors.
At least this only takes 10 minutes, thankfully all feeling to your scalp is gone, so the second combing doesn't hurt as much as the first, but judging by the clumps of hair being pulled out of the comb you know you're going to pay for this later (Ha. Ha.).
At this point you're tempted to say "No need for the dryer, I really must dash", but again, before you can get your brain and mouth to sync and utter these words while they're being formed, she's got the dryer and a brush that looks like it was used to clean drainpipes.
20 more minutes pass. You sit there. Helpless. Your hair is now puffier than a show poodles and is TOTALLY the wrong shape. At least you still have the elastic band you had in your hair on arrival.

Eventually, like a drink of water to a dying man, you're DONE.
Done! Freedom is seconds away. All that stands before you and the door is the bill.
It's at this point you wonder why you should pay, and how long the argument will take to get the "special treatment we applied without telling you while we were shampooing" removed from the bill, will last.

Defeated, stained, stiff, sore, and raw you pay.
"Thank you so much, love!!!!! See you in 20 days!!!!!"
They know you'll be back. You have to come back. That cut won't last two months! It's DESIGNED not to last two months.
However! You've plotted your revenge, and it comes in a box called "Nice and Do It At Home Cheaply".
Take your 20 minute lecture on "How bad these home colour kits are for your hair" and stuff it lady!
It's my hair! My dead organic matter produced as a waste product of my body and I will do with it as I like! I laugh manically in defiance inside my own head! Mu-hahahahahaaaa!
See you next month! Thanks for the coffee, love!!!!*

!!!* Ear-shattering, overly enthusiastic, happy and sweet tones are lost in text. Thank god for the exclamation mark and sarcasm.