Much Ado About A Do!

In this city that is fueled by vanity, one can't help but notice when your hair is not up to standard. Katie noticed that her hair could use some touching up, but one of the drawbacks to moving to a new city is finding new places to take care of such delicate necessities. Sure, there's no problem finding a new grocery store or favorite restaurant, but a new follicle artist? This person will be in charge of your appearance for the next 4 to 6 weeks! With Katie's busy schedule, I decided I'd take a look and see if I could scout a few potential hair salons for her. Fortunately, Katie's requirements for a new hair dresser are fairly straightforward: English as a first language and somewhere between $50-$70. I assumed that with the plethora of appearance-conscious people in this city, there would be a veritable army of professionals to fulfill their needs. Boy, was I ever right! On a broad inspection, there appear to be about as many hairdressers as there are heads to dress. I decided to narrow my search to establishments listed online, which was a ton of fun! These Web sites are as intricate and Flash-intensive as any I've ever seen. They start out with with really cool music, and I instantly feel cool just because I'm at the site, and if I go to this salon, I will certainly come out cooler than when I went in! One site even offered individual biographies of the hairdressers including their education, accolades, and astrological sign. I narrowed a few down, but I think this will prove to be a more challenging decision than which college to attend.

In other news, Bank of America has been nominated for the Biggest Misnomer Award, and stands a colossal chance of winning the Worst Customer Service Through Overt Indifference Award. First, the misnomer thing. When Katie lived in New York, they gave her grief because she had a Boston account. When she switched to a New York account, they gave her more grief when she came to Florida, and just the other day, she encountered the same situation when she tried to do business with a Bank of America in California. None of these states have their banks operating on a common system so a person with an account in a different state can't do business in a local bank. And when you try to talk to someone about it, everyone at the bank plays that game where they tell you to call Customer Service, while the nerdy college intern on the other end of the phone at Customer Service has less authority than naval lint and is in no way able to help you, tell you to talk to a person at the bank. Don't think you can go into the bank and ask for a manager, either. Everyone at Bank of America is an assistant manager, and they are all equally unwilling to help, lest they violate their long-standing policy of giving customers the shaft. The actual manager who oversees all these assistant managers hides away, cloistered in some ivory tower and can't be bothered with such trivial matters as talking to customers. My guess is that he's in the vault, rolling naked in all the money.