INT. COMPANY HAIR STUDIO, FALLOWFIELD. DAY…read more
A young woman (BECCA) walks in, clutching a magazine folded open to a page. She's nervous, tugging at her shoulder length hair, and approaches RECEPTIONIST.
RECEPTIONIST: Hiya, what can we do for you?
BECCA: I, erm, I haven't made an appointment, but, I was wondering if you could fit me in for a cut?
RECEPTIONIST: Yeah, sure. Just take a seat at the backwash.
BECCA: OK.
BECCA takes her seat, and is approached by HAIRDRESSER, who washes BECCA's hair with such frenzy and brutality that BECCA's scalp all but bleeds.
HAIRDRESSER: Take a seat by that mirror please.
BECCA does as she is told, scared that any insubordination on her part will result in further scalp laceration.
HAIRDRESSER: What do you want done then?
BECCA hands HAIRDRESSER the magazine.
BECCA: A sort of bob, like that one there, circled in red. Just skimming my jawline, with a sweepy fringe, and layers.
HAIRDRESSER: No problem, love. Here, read this Cosmopolitan magazine whilst I cut your hair.
Whilst HAIRDRESSER busies herself with scissors and combs and whatnot, BECCA reads with interest about Drew Barrymore's tempestuous life, and is shocked to learn that Ms Barrymore snorted her first line of coke at 13. BECCA looks very thoughtful, contemplating how together and sorted Ms Barrymore seems, and what a personal triumph it must have been for her to overcome her demons like that, and still have a totally intact nose. BECCA is dragged from her reverie by HAIRDRESSER.
HAIRDRESSER: There you go, do you like it?
BECCA looks in mirror. All thoughts of Drew Barrymore are gone. BECCA realises haircut looks familiar. BECCA realises haircut is exact same as early-90s Princess Diana. BECCA starts to sort-of cry.
BECCA: This, erm, it's not, quite, erm, like the picture, is it?
HAIRDRESSER (angrily): It's exactly like the picture.
BECCA(fearing further remonstrations and scalp-pain): Oh. Yes. Well I suppose you know best. Er....
HAIRDRESSER: Pay at reception.
HAIRDRESSER disappears into back room. BECCA picks up belongings, leaving pride shattered on floor next to informative Drew Barrymore article, and makes way to reception.
RECEPTIONIST: That'll be £40 please.
BECCA (holding back tears of fury and disbelief): OK.
BECCA leaves, never to return.