Do No Harm

It's not always easy being good.  It seems to me it should be, but there are times when I find it hard to not to offend or hurt someone.  This morning is an example whereof I speak, and the reason I write this now.  I had an appointment for a haircut, even though I had it cut just over a week ago, when I went purple.  The fact that I had my hair coloured is obvious, but the cut was not.  I didn't get my money's worth, because it wasn't what I wanted, and honestly, I didn't really want all that much, just a haircut.  Maybe the guy who cut my hair was afraid of cutting all the purple out, but the final results looked as if he hadn't cut my hair at all.  So after a week and a half of being angry about it, I went back to the hair salon and asked for a proper cut.

I know this is a problem only a person living in a developed nation complains about. (It's real hell, let me tell you.)  It certainly isn't the sort of thing I like to dwell on because it's such a consumer-based issue, but it presented a very real moral dilemma for me this morning.  Nick, the nice, older chap who cut my hair, was working there today, and that was the problem.  The manager of the salon had booked me with another younger, hipper hairstylist.  I fretted that Nick would see me getting it cut again with somebody else so soon after he'd done it.  I mentioned my concerns to the manager when he booked my appointment, but he told me not to worry, it happens all the time.  It's part of the business.  Nonetheless, I had misgivings.  I simply didn't want to hurt Nick's feelings.
As I walked to the salon I kept praying that Nick wouldn't be anywhere around to see me.  But of course he was.  I wore a hat (purple hair is easy to spot) and kept my head low.  When I arrived at reception the manager was there and greeted me.  I told him I felt awkward about Nick seeing me.  The manager told me to chill and keep my hat on.  So I did, keeping my head buried deep in a book.  Joanna, who was the replacement hair cutter, arrived shortly afterwards, fully apprised that she was there to reshape the cut of a dissatisfied customer.  Joanna is young, funky, and urban.  I knew she'd give me the cut I wanted the first time around, and I got it.  But I had to leave the premises walking right by Nick.  By that time he'd seen me, even though I hadn't made eye contact with him.  I left in a hurry, whizzing by his chair as if I had no idea he was there.
I know he was hurt and offended.  And that really bothers me.  I also realise the situation didn't look good with his employers.  Dissatisfied customers don't go over well with businesses trying to meet the bottom line, and in a consumer, capitalistic system I have every right to ask for my money's worth.  But I felt crappy anyway.  Aye me.
So what does this have to do with the opening statement of this little blurb?  It means I really do have a modicum of compassion.  It means that I'm aware I might be hurting people's feelings, even when I don't want to.  And even though I feel really bad about what happened, I'm glad to have learned something good about myself.  I guess that proves that valuable lessons are similar to being good - they aren't always easy.
- G.P.