Almost a mini rant.

Must try to let this small entry not descend into a mini rant. Up very early to leave home for 6.15 in exceptionally cold and windy weather. Goal: to reach AZ Sint Janshospitaal by or before 7.00 when I had an appointment. Couldn't begin to understand why it was needed as all the pre-op stuff had been done by the G.P. or on his behalf by a laboratory for which I have just paid. After the ticketed queuing, I had an interview with a young man who was clearly puzzled; he told me several times that my operation was due to take place tomorrow afternoon and I replied that I knew. Eventually he disappeared, with the forms from the Huisarts, the G.P., and my I.D. card. He returned, full of apologies, to say that I wasn't needed; the letter asking me to attend had been an administrative error!! I graciously managed to be philosophical about it, and my missed swim, before plunging, head down into the maelstrom outside. Ten freezing minutes later the No 13 bus arrived and whisked me nearly home enabling me to arrive approximately two hours after leaving, cold and starving.

Just enough time for coffee and toast before I set off to walk to Kardinal Mercierstraat to have my nails done, a Bruggean extravagance I have adopted. Quite a long walk then one hour later, back to the wind and rain, to walk another long distance almost to Gentpoort, to have my hair trimmed and highlighted. All this beauty concentration because it may be two months at least before I will be able to manage the same journeys on foot, and that is an optimistic assessment. The hairdresser is a marvel at cutting and his
partner is great at colouring so all was set fair. And indeed, my hair looks good but there was an unexpected and unusual clash of cultures after the first hour and a half. When the highlighting had been done and the hair washed and conditioned, I sat with wet hair feeling rather cold. Only then did I notice that the salon was empty save for me and another woman suspended backwards over a basin, having her hair washed. It was around 12.45. I asked the shampoo girl where my hairdresser was and she said, unbelievably, 'Now he is eating.'
 

Is it because I have recently visited America, Land of Customer Service, or is it because that situation just couldn't happen in the UK? I said quietly to the girl that the customer's money is what keeps the salon going, so the customer must be looked after. She uncomfortably agreed and disappeared coming back to say he would be with me shortly. In all, I waited just over 20 minutes for him to appear and resume business after a five minute phone call which he received, thus making the wait, 25 minutes! I said nothing, it being politic not to upset the man with the scissors but at the end, he said, 'So you object to my eating?'

'Not at all, I object to waiting for over 20 minutes while you eat.'

'The business of the day is constant, without a break, and I need lunch.'

I won't report the short conversation, not at all heated, but the hairdresser just did not understand my point. If you want a lunch break, build it into the appointments bookings; don't take it in the middle of someone's treatment. The photograph above right, is of a woman who manages to look neither cold nor petulant about waiting around with wet hair; quite glamorous too. It is, sadly, not of me.