mom-mode: mom-mode post #111- on a lifetime of hairdressers

Sit tight friends, 'cause you are about to read through the story of how I found all my hairdressers (or at least through the ones that really count!)
Like any other women, it took me a while to find the right hairdresser for my type of hair and personal taste. Mom used to take me to our friendly neighborhood hairdresser. Her skills were up to par for when all you need is a trim for your otherwise extremely low-maintenance long locks. But one day, when I was a teenager and mom couldn't take me to get my haircut, she just set up an appointment and gave me enough money to go on my own. Off I went, savoring this little bit of independence my mom had entrusted me with, only to get to the end of my appointment with my hair still wet. I was sitting there, waiting for someone to come dry it. The lady then tells me they had added an extra charge to style the hair after a haircut. It wasn't built in in the price anymore. I begginly replied: "m'am, my mom only gave me enough for the old price, could you go ahead and style it, please? I assure you my mom or myself will come by later and pay for the remainder." Now mind you, this women had cut my hair ever since I was a little girl. In fact, she had cut my hair, my little sister's hair, my mom's hair, and even my dad's hair on occasion. "Sorry, honey, we make no exceptions." was her reply. So furiously and frustrated I left, on a humid, windy afternoon, wet-haired that quickly turned into Monica-on-a-Barbados-vacation-hair. I started crying half way home, as I started to feel the weight of all the humidity creep through every single strand. By the time I got home I was a royal mess. I had a party to go to that evening and no amount of at-home washing could fix it. It needed a professional. So my mom, being the understanding mom that she was, quickly made a few calls and soon, I had found the hairdresser that was going to style me through bad puberty hormones that made my hair extra curly, to the perfect 'beach hair'-do on my wedding day.
One week after I got married, I moved out of the country and found myself desperately seeking for a new hairdresser. One that wouldn't leave me hanging on a wet, rainy day. One that understood the peculiarities of my sometimes straight, sometimes wavy, thick black strands. After a few tries, I found one that suited my stipulations (stipulations adopted after the dreaded no-pay, no-style hairdresser incident):
-I feel pampered and not like I've been "handled" after I leave the salon.
-Keeps his/her own appearance very well-kept.
-Is familiar with modern haircuts.
-Gives you the perfect salon-style blowout, every time. The kind that you could never replicate at home.

So when I moved to yet another country, I was worried. Especially since I can barely communicate in the native language.Plus much like a teenager's self-image, a new-moms self-image is a fragile thing to mess with. AND I had heard horror stories from other foreigners that had had some not-so wonderful experiences.The first time I got my haircut here, a Turkish friend took me and all went well. It was a simple trim, anyways. But this time, I went all by myself (with a non-native speaker for support) and communicated exactly how I wanted my haircut, all by myself. I was biting my teeth with nerves, before I got there but needless to say, after I left, I felt like I could conquer the world. For I left the salon with exactly what I had asked for: