Hell is a hairdressers convention

A couple of weeks ago I got recruited by this swanky hair salon across the road from my work to be a hair model for the London Hairdressing Expo, which was today. Little did I know it was going to involve eight hours of pre-dying over the past week, in which I went from brown to orange to red to purple, followed by a two hour horror fest today where I had to sit on a little stage, not moving, as my head was brutally attacked by a pretentious wanker in really tight jeans while a huge swarm of Italian hairdressers with hairy chests mobbed me and took photos and spun me round and round on my chair until I felt sick. It was utterly bizarre, and they caked me in so much makeup I looked like I was dead. My only escape was a tiny temporary cupboard where I managed to hide and scoff chips with a few franticaly smoking off-duty security guards. It was a total nightmare- five thousand shallow, narcissistic, bleating, over-peroxided, underfed, hairdressers crammed into one convention centre and fighting over fluro pink metallic scissors and platinum hair extensions for dogs. On the plus side; I got paid, I stole the t-shirt they dressed me in, i got mobbed by Spanish women who wanted to touch my hair, and I got a total thrill out of wearing a big security pass around my neck that said 'Model'. On the down side, I am now hideous. And when I wash all the product out, I'm going to look like Ronald McDonald.