Justified furry

Hello ladies and gentlemen, today I am here to rant about my horrific afternoon. This is an afternoon to end all afternoons. Yes, I am overreacting. But I'm angry and sometimes my chill physique has to be altered.

This all started at the beginning of lunch. Our Rankin Run t-shirts were in and I'm the first one in line by chance. I tell the lovely grade 10's my name and they hand me a bag. Those lovely grade 10's turn into dumb bitches as I walk upstairs because I notice the size is medium, not small.

And for the record, they are in mens sizes so even the small is pretty large so the medium was enormous on me. So, I just say, "Whatever, I will go back down after lunch." After my enjoyable eating experience I head back downstairs to get this t-shirt ordeal straightened out.

"Hey, you gave me a medium when I was supposed to get a small..." They ask for my name again and check the folder.
"It says medium on here..." Says grade 10 #1.
"But I said a small... Can't you just switch it?"
"No, then someone else's order might get messed up." Says grade 10 #2.
"Well, is there someone else I can talk to? I asked for a small." They told me to go to someone but I was like screw it. I will handle it tomorrow.

It just really pissed me off though because when I signed up for the Rankin Run my English teacher asked me for the size and I said small and she was like, "Okay, small." It's not like she didn't hear me correctly. And it's also not like I asked for a medium, took it out of the bag and realized it was huge then went to ask for a small.

I used to be the kind of person who probably wouldn't do anything about it. Just let it be. But not now. I am determined to get the correct shirt size even if I have to sneak in and switch them myself.

So, this wasn't even a big deal. I might have punched my locker out of frustration and scared Nathan, but I'm over it. I'll get it sorted out. The real problem happened when I got home. My fifth period was cancelled so I just came home for the afternoon.

My mother and I decided to go get haircuts. My mom wanted the works. I just wanted a simple trim. I liked my hair. I liked how it would fall in front of my face and I would casually swoop it back. I liked the length. Oh, how I miss it.

All I wanted was to kill off some of the split-ends. That. Was. All. But my dreams were crushed by Darlene. I'm not just saying, "Wow, that bitch was retarded." I honestly think she had a mental disability. I do not think she should be allowed to hold scissors.

I experienced all 5 stages of grief from this hair-cut. Let me walk you through it.

1. Denial- This happened when she took the first cut off my bangs. If my bangs were 10cm before, they are 3cm now. I just couldn't believe she just did that.
2. Anger- This happened after the haircut was complete. WHAT DID SHE DO TO MY HAIR. Also, she wanted me to pay $5 to dry it. So my hair was soaking wet. I hate you Darlene. My life soon changed to drinking iced coffee and hating everything even more. For the record, iced coffee is pretty gross.
3. Bargaining- This was a short one. It went something like, "I'll win the lottery, buy the place and fire Darlene if this hit man doesn't work out." The whole thing backfired.
4. Depression- I have to go to school like this. I have to wait until this grows back. I'm going to go cry in the corner.
5. Acceptance- At the end of the day, it's just hair. Deep breaths. Look on the bright side; your hair looks more like Tina Fey's now. Yes, that is your bright side. You are really messed up. Looks like life is getting back to normal.

I'm always the one to tell someone, "Oh, your haircut isn't that bad, stop being upset." But maybe that's because I never had a haircut I've despised before. I now understand.

The only thing that really boggles my mind is WHY. I asked her to trim my bangs, not chop the shit out of them. I just don't understand what she was thinking. Needless to say, she did not get a tip.