I’ve, long since, stopped asking myself- Why me? I know that it is my lot in life to be a beacon for weird. My husband no longer rushes, stunned, to my aid or to hear my ridiculous story- he merely groans and says “What happened now?”
You were kidnapped by a Bolivian Drug Cartel? Sounds fun, dear.
Whilst preparing for vacation, I went to the mall to get the mandatory mani / pedi in order to look like a human, as opposed to my normal look: tree sloth.
Why would I want people to see the real me? I was supposed to meet a friend at the mall. She is, minimally, 45 minutes late for any plan, so I had some time to look around before going to the nail salon.
I hate people, so the mall is a nightmare for me- as, usually, there are people there. Frankly, anything outside of my house is a nightmare for me. However, in my mall I have the added “bonus” having kiosks as well as stores.
I phone screen repair kiosk, t-shirts-with-dirty-sayings kiosk, proactive kiosk, ear piercing, pretzels (mmmmmmm, pretzels), balloon animals… you get the picture. It’s a veritable obstacle course of horseshit to navigate. The non-beauty of the kiosk is that one doesn’t chose to “enter” a kiosk, like one would a store, the kiosk, at times, can “come to you.”
Dressed in my finest sweatpants and T shirt, I entered The Mall. I saw someone outside of Victoria’s Secret handing out lemonade… I have zero interest in Victoria or her slutty secrets, thank you- so I swung wide to avoid the lemonade when “Maxima” stepped into my path.
Maxima is 6 feet tall if she’s an inch. “She” is a dark skinned black “woman” and she is laser-focused on ME. Oh shit. But I’m not a jerk, so I had to say SOMETHING, but my plan was to decline whatever “she” was selling.
You are coming with me.
“Gurrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrl… what is going on with your hair?”
Is she talking to me? She wants to know what’s going on with my long, thick, naturally red, naturally curly hair?
Not like this…
More like this. You know, if I were Carrot Top.
“Um. Excuse me?”
“Gurrrrrrrl, you are a mess, gurl. Come with me.” “She,” not waiting for an answer, grabbed my arm and dragged me to her kiosk, pushed me down in the chair, swiveled it to her, got right up in my grill and said “Gurl, you need help. I’m Maxima and I am here to fix you up, gurl.”
“Um… “ I replied, terrified.
“Is this a weave?” Maxima asked, manhandling-emphasis on the man- my locks. “Because this is NOT a good weave.”
This is not my hair
Maxima and “her” assistant, Nayeunka (I’m not even sure how to pronounce her name, I only know it because it was on the SPOILER ALERT: sales receipt) began tugging at my hair piling it up in a multitude of clips and twists. I looked at my watch- well I had the time, my friend is perpetually late.
“Shit, this is not a weave. Gurl, when was the last time you got your hairs done?”
“Yesterday. I had my hair cut yesterday.”
“Whatttttttttt?!?! Gurl, you don’t look like you had your hairs did yesterday! I don’t know what salon you go to, but thank goodness, you came to see Maxima!”
“Well I didn’t really come to you…”
You are coming with me.
“Gurl- what are you wearing? Gurl- you should be wearing a RED DRESS and high heels!”
“Um, I’m getting a pedicure and um, leaving for vacation and, um, I’m doing laundry and um, red isn’t my color, um, I’m an autumn and um…”
“Gurl, you gotta be dressed up, girl! You ain’t getting any younger, gurl.”
Am I pulling too hard?
“Gurl- once you hit 30- you gotta dress up all the time if you want to land a man.”
“My man has landed. And just how old do you think I am?”
“Um, let me look at you. Um. Hmmm, I’m not very good at this. Hmmmm. 32?”
I’m almost 44. “Maxima, I love you.”
“Oh gurl, I love you too and we are going to fix you up good. I gotta give you my number, gurl. I got stories to tell you gurlllllll. We need to hang out, hit da clubs, gurrrrrrlllll.”
I, instantly, come up with a title for her “stories.” American Horror Story: Maxima.
Maxima and Nayeunka iron my hair and burn the f*ck out of my scalp as Maxima tells me “her” life story. “She” is married to a Hungarian man who is very “cultured.”
I asked what type of culture he was into? Opera? Symphony? Ballet? Maxima said “What? Nah, he’s cultured – he ‘spects me to cook his meals and clean his house. But I’m a modern woman.”
Modern? Yes. Woman? Well… Plus, apparently, I know nothing of Hungarian “culture.”
While I was being overhauled, Maxima and Nayeunka got into a shouting match with the skanks hocking tea at “Tea for You and You for Tea.” Maxima has been encroaching on their “turf” and they have complained to mall management.
Gurrrrrllll, I’ll shove that tea where the sun don’t shine!
The Tea Hos informed Maxima “she” is not permitted more than 2 feet beyond the perimeter of the kiosk. Maxima clapped her flat iron at them and told them to mind their own business.
Tea Hos be gone!
At this point, I’m, kind of, siding with the Tea Hos. I mean, if Maxima had kept within the designated 2 foot perimeter, I wouldn’t have been kidnapped and blinking out a SOS to passersby.
30 minutes later, this sucker was walking away with a flat iron (which I will never use) and a VIP card for $16.99 entitling me to flat ironing anytime (Monday thru Thursday) for one year.
The deal of the week
Aside from the ridiculously expensive flat iron, I thought the $16.99 was worth it. (And in truth, I knew I could give the flat iron to my sister. Plus, Maxima really did impress me with “her” sales “pitch” and I felt she earned a sale. Interpretation: Stockholm Syndrome.
At the end of my “remodeling,” Maxima said “Ok Gurrrrrrrrl, next time we do curls!!!” So… kind of how I was when pre-make-over?
This is my look for next time
Maxima gave me “her” phone number, and I escaped to meet my friend. When I entered the nail salon flustered, my friend said “Where were you?”
I said “I was accosted by a Tranny with a flat iron.”
“Oh.” My friend said, barely glancing up from her magazine. She is well aware of my talent for attracting lunatics.
I arrived home ready to relay my adventurous tale to my husband, who barely nodded.
Sounds good. What time is dinner?
Just another day married to me. I showed him my new flat iron that Maxima insisted I buy and he just shook his head and went upstairs. I, btw, made sure to buy the ugliest one too.
Ugliest Flat Iron on Earth
That should make a nice gift for my sister. Tee hee.
Fast forward two weeks, I arrived home from vacation and head to the mall for a pedicure. I peeked around the front entrance to JC Penney, calculating the best way to circumnavigate Maxima and her flying monkeys … and I see nothing. No flat irons. No kiosk. No tucked-junk, No Maxima. Did I come in the wrong entrance? Nope. I see the Tea Hos cackling and pushing their tea, but no one getting their hairs did.
My first thought is: did I dream it? Nope, $100 flat iron in my bathroom- still in the box-and I have a Transvestite’s digits on my fridge. These two things seem to indicate the episode was real .
Let me give you my number…
My second thought is: Crap, am I on the internet getting hoodwinked out $100, plus tax? Nope. Surely, someone would have let me know if they’d seen me. And don’t call me Shirley.
My third thought is: I’ve been had through a vexing episode of Tranny Hypnosis.
CRAP. I’m too nice. I get sucked in. I’m too nice. I once got grifted at the gas station for $20 and my husband will never let me forget it. I’m too nice.
But heyyyyyyyy, what about my VIP card?!?!? I want my weave did! I rushed home and looked for the receipt and the VIP card. Oh great, there is a line of teeny, tiny type (normal people call it : the fine print) on the VIP card says: Offer valid through March 2011.
Hold on, let me check the calendar…Right. As I suspected, the current year is 2013.
I called the phone number listed on the sales receipt. “Beep, Beep, Beep- the number you have reached is no longer in service.” My next move was go take to the internet!! I type in the website listed on the VIP card. Phew, there are flat irons and curling irons on the landing page… no trannies, but, I feel happy to have had a smidgen of success. Ok, let’s see- I’m looking for something indicating “find us” or “locations.” Hmmmm. I don’t see anything of that nature.
I click on “Contact us.” Perfect. I will contact them. I click on the button and am taken to the FAQ page, with this message: Please check our FAQs before attempting to send us an email. 11 pages of FAQs later, I am permitted to send them an email.
This is my email:
Hello, I purchased a PYT Flatiron from the Hair2dayStyle kiosk in the Springfield Mall on Aug 4, 2013 and I bought a VIP membership for $16.99 allowing me to have my hair straightened at the kiosk for 1 year. Well… the kiosk is now GONE. Has it moved within the Mall? If it is, indeed, closed, I would like a refund for this VIP card. Please advise. Thanks.
This is the email I received in return:
Thank you for contacting Hair2dayStyle. Unfortunately, we do not have any authorized re-sellers or dealers; the only way to purchase an authentic Hair2dayStyle Product is through our website. www. Hair2dayStyleproducts.com. If you are seeking a refund for the VIP membership you purchased, you will have to locate the person in charge of the Kiosk.
The Hair2dayStyle Team
Ok, WHAT???? Let me get out my magnifying glass and DNA kit and try to track down the owner of the disappearing kiosk. Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow.
At first I interpreted this email to be that because the kiosk is no longer there, they won’t stand behind the VIP card or the flatiron. But then when I reread it, I was like… wait a minute… they are saying this kiosk isn’t legit- I think. Right? Is that what you are getting from this? I need to sit on this before I respond.
In the meantime, I dug out Maxima’s number, dialed “her” up and was all “Hey, gurrrrrrrrrrl it’s me! WTF is up with the kiosk?!?!?” Just kidding.
Hey gurrrrrrlllll, what’s the 4-1-1?
But, the business card on which Maxima wrote “her” number had another telephone number that says Hair2dayStyle and gave a telephone number. The telephone number was different than the one listed on the sales slip. So… I slap on my moustache and Hawaiian shirt and call the number. There no answer, but there is a voicemail, and… the mailbox is full. I bet Tom Selleck never had to deal with this crap.
I hung up, called my husband and he suggested I dispute the charge. So I got my credit card out to do so, when my phone rang. The number calling was the number of the kiosk!! I answered and a gravely-voiced Middle Eastern Man said “Hello? You call this number?”
Hejlo? You call to make sexy time?
I explained I was looking for the Hair2dayStyle Kiosk, wanting to use my VIP card and he informed me that due to a dispute with “Tea for You and You for Tea” the kiosk had been relocated to outside J. Crew.
Yeah, that should go well. The typical J.Crew shopper LOVES to be accosted by aggressive-flat-iron-wielding trannies. It’s an added service on page 27 of the catalog: Gift Wrapping, Flat-Ironing Tranny Attack, Monogramming…
Gurrrrrllll, don’t make me fight your for those flat front khakis
Stunned that Maxima lost the Tea Wars… I said my goodbyes to The Flat Iron King of the Middle East and was, at least, happy that the kiosk didn’t vanish.
Moments later, the phone rang again… same number, same gravely –voiced Middle Easter Man. “Hello? You call this number before? You in mall now and need assistance??”
Hejlo? You need help to make sexy time?
Wow, for tranny-hiring-tea hating-kiosk-moving-con-artist selling flat irons which “fell off a truck,” this guy was all about service!
I decided to respond to the customer service email:
Hello, thank you for responding to me so quickly. Since I emailed you, I have learned that the kiosk in question has moved elsewhere in the mall. But are you saying that this kiosk is not an authorized dealer? The kiosk is called Hair2dayStyle, but you are saying is has no affiliation to Hair2dayStyle.com? And the flat iron I bought may not be an authentic PYT iron?
Obviously, I was under the impression this is an authorized dealer … and they, certainly, are advertising themselves as such. Please let me know. Thanks.
As my friend Robin said “What kind of world do we live in when you can’t trust the kiosk tranny to be an honest business… um man? Woman? Person?”
Do you want to hear my refund policy?
Hello Kristin (read: dumbass)
Yes, I am letting you know we do not have any authorized dealers for our products. The kiosk in the mall has no affiliation with Hair2dayStyle. Also we do not have a flat iron that is called PYT flat iron. Please browse the website for authentic Hair2dayStyleProducts. Thanks.
Let’s review the facts so far:
- My friend has a time-management issue.
- Maxima is a tranny with aggressive sales tactics.
- I don’t look like I had my hair done yesterday.
- I am a hot mess.
- “Her” Hungarian husband wants dinner.
- I should wear red dresses.
- It’s hard to “land a man” after age 30.
- The Tea Hos and the Flat Iron Trannies (FITs) had a turf-war.
- “Tea for You and You for Tea” employs power-hungry ninjas.
- Kiosks are temporary.
- Sometimes criminals have good customer service.
- Hair2DayStyle doesn’t sell their shit anywhere but on their website.
- My hairs is not getting did anytime soon.
- The FITs (Flat Iron Trannies) are, in all likelihood, currently waging war with the J.Crew.
- I was hoodwinked.
Yep, I think that, about, covers things.
So what does all of this mean? Well Lola at my credit card’s Fraud Division said “You’ve been ripped off!” (Say it with an Indian accent though, it almost sounds cute.)
I am attempting to dispute the charge as the products sold at the kiosk are not authentic. The PYT flatiron is not affiliated with Hair2dayStyle. It’s all a little convoluted for my taste, which is saying A LOT.
The burns on my scalp have healed, more or less. When I see Maxima’s telephone number on my refrigerator, I feel a tinge of regret. I’d like to hear more stories… so who knows, maybe I will whip out that expired VIP card, put on a red dress and go hang out with “her” outside the J. Crew.
Come back and see me sometime.