Free License to Shop by Kelly McClymer Page B

need to make yourself a
non-stick surface.”
    “ What? Cover myself in
Teflon?”
    She laughed, but nodded.
“Nothing should stick to you.”
    I tried to imagine that
scenario. Nothing sticking to me. Nope. Everything stuck to me.
Worries, dog hair, and random puppies.
    I called Deb, sure she’d
have an entirely different perspective. “What’s the big deal? Just
have the party and tell Seth to run interference for you and this
potential boss lady.”
    Hmmm. This was not at all
what I thought she would say, but it wasn’t bad advice. If Seth
wanted things to go well for him at work, he could at least make
sure that I didn’t do anything to sink my chances at this job just
because he decided to have a party. I’d bring it up to him after
dinner. After the kids went to bed.
     
    “ Molly, I need you,” Sue, my favorite mystery shopping
scheduler begged.
    I resisted. “Sue, I told
you, I’m quitting. You have to find someone else.”
    “ I’ve tried. This place is
only two blocks from your house.”
    I sighed. “What kind of
shop is it?”
    “ Hair. Shampoo and
cut.”
    “ Not sure on that one.” I
did need a hair cut. And it was only two blocks from my house. But
I was quitting. I hadn’t realized how hard it would be to actually
quit a job like mystery shopping. How easy it was to say yes to a
ten-minute job here, or a hair cut there. Maybe once I actually had
a real job I would be able to say no with more conviction, and then
stick to it.
    “ Twenty minutes, and
you’ll get paid to get your hair cut. That’s a pretty good
bargain.”
    I thought about the party.
About my mother coming to visit. I really could use a good
haircut.
    “ Okay. When do you need it
done?”
    “ Today.”
    “ Sue.”
    “ I’ll send you the
details.” She hung up before I could change my mind. Smart
woman.
    Fortunately, the details
were indeed simple. I was supposed to schedule an appointment for
next week, and then try to walk in to the hair shop for a quickie
haircut. The script was fairly simple. What did they say when they
answered the phone? How quickly did they schedule an appointment?
Did they give me all the information I needed, like cost and
expected amount of time the haircut would take? Easy
peasy.
    I had about an hour before
I needed to pick up the kids at school. I decided it would just be
easier to go get the haircut then, rather than explain to Seth why
I needed to go out after dinner to get a haircut. He might
understand, but I’d just rather not see him frown because I’d taken
yet another mystery shop after promising to quit.
    The shop directions were
simple, walk in and time how long it took someone to greet me, how
soon they could fit me in, whether they were dressed in proper
uniform, used the proper scripts, whether the various areas of the
shop were clean and tidy, etc.
    I suppose, in hindsight, I
should have noticed that there was nothing on the score sheet about
whether the haircut was good or not.
    I walked in to find four
women of various ages in the process of cutting hair for four
clients — two men, two women.
    No one was sitting in the
flimsy plastic seats designed for those waiting for
appointments.
    I waited at the check-in
desk patiently for the required five minutes. No one even bothered
to glance at me. I felt the urge to look down and make sure I
hadn’t become transparent since the last time I’d looked in a
mirror.
    Five minutes is a long
time when no one even glances your way.
    At last, I said, in as
loud a voice as I could manage politely, “Do you take
walk-ins?”
    Before any of the stylists
looked at me, they glanced at each other. It seemed to be a battle
of gazes over which one would have to turn to look at me. The loser
was a short, stout woman with her gray hair pulled back in a tight
bun. She looked at me, and pasted on a fake smile. “I’ll be right
with you, hon. Just let me get this gentleman brushed
off.”
    I nodded, and bent to my
phone as if reading a text.