Here in PEI, I made an appointment with my favorite hairdresser. Oh, how I needed a perm.
The first thing she said to me after Hi, was something about someone leaving, “and she took your card with her.” Every hairdresser keeps a record of each customer’s perm: date and kind of perm. My card had gone.
She washed my hair and started putting the rollers in. After I stopped chatting, I noticed a rather noticeable layer of dust on a nearby cart. Then I looked at the red wall in front of us. It was scarred: someone had removed papers from it and left ugly marks.
My eyes fell to the bottom shelf of the cabinet in front of me. Some old stuff someone had dropped there. On her desk were a pile of papers and odd things. Behind me were a couple of tables with magazines,newspapers and books of haircuts you could look at all piled carelessly.
The more I looked the more dust I saw. (It takes a lot of dust for me to notice.)
The perm was fine but she had no curlers in the shop. On Saturdays she worked in a manor (nursing home) where everyone wanted a shampoo and set. So did I! She used a curling iron on my hair but the pathetic curls didn’t last long in the heat and the breeze.
I still felt sorry for her, despite all. Until I got home and saw myself in the mirror. Caramba! I looked awful, as though I’d been abducted by aliens and they had tried to fix my hair.

What would you have done? Walk out, suggest she cleanup before the inspector came, refuse to tip her? What a softie I am: I gave her a big tip because I’d never see her again.