A man mocked me in a salon for my shaved head, completely unaware that I had cancer. His rude remarks stung deeper than I let on, but my hairdresser stepped in to defend me. It wasn’t enough to stop the hurt, though, and I found myself sobbing in the bathroom, overwhelmed by the cruelty and insensitivity.
But when I returned to the salon, I was speechless. The man, who had taken my chair with such arrogance, sat blissfully unaware in his seat, a sleeping mask over his eyes as my hairdresser “worked his magic.” What I saw next brought a flicker of joy back into my heart.
The once obnoxious man now sported a disastrous haircut—think porcupine meets lawnmower. His hair was chopped unevenly, and to top it off, it had been dyed a shocking neon pink. I almost burst out laughing but held it in when my hairdresser gave me a quick wink, signaling that this was all part of his plan.
When the man finally took off his mask and looked in the mirror, his reaction was priceless. He was absolutely horrified. “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO ME?!” he screamed, his face turning the same shade of red as the ridiculous dye in his hair.
My hairdresser, feigning innocence, simply said, “I thought this was what you wanted. You were in such a hurry, after all. This is our quickest style!”
Fuming, the man demanded to see the manager, threatening lawsuits and screaming about how he would “ruin” the salon. But when Mr. Gibbs, the salon owner, arrived, my hairdresser calmly explained how the man had been insulting and demeaning to a cancer patient.
Mr. Gibbs listened, his face growing stern. He then turned to the man and said, “Sir, I think you owe Polly an apology. And unless you’d prefer this conversation to continue with the authorities, I suggest you take the free head shave we’re offering and leave quietly.”
Defeated, the man grudgingly agreed to have his head shaved completely bald. He sat in the chair, boiling with anger as his neon pink mess was buzzed away. The sight of him, sulking and bald, was almost too much for me to handle—I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing.
As he stormed out of the salon, I couldn’t help but call after him, “Hey, welcome to the bald club! Hope you’ve got a good hat collection!” The entire salon burst into laughter as the man threw his cape onto the floor and slammed the door behind him.
In that moment, something inside me shifted. For months, I had felt fragile, diminished by cancer and the physical toll it had taken on me. Losing my hair had felt like losing a part of myself. But standing there, laughing with Tony and Mr. Gibbs, I realized something important: My strength wasn’t in my hair, or in how I looked. It was in my spirit, in the kindness of the people around me, and in my determination to keep fighting.
As I stepped outside, feeling the warmth of the sun on my newly smooth head, I couldn’t help but smile. That jerk may have tried to tear me down, but in the end, I was the one who walked away stronger. And thanks to my hairdresser’s sweet revenge, I was reminded that there are always people willing to stand up and fight with you.
“Look out, world,” I whispered to myself, feeling a sense of confidence I hadn’t felt in months. “Polly’s back, and she’s stronger than ever.”