Saturday morning, I wanted to do get junk for my house, get my air fixed in my car, get a haircut, etc. On the way to getting my shoes fixed, I stopped at a beauty school in Redondo Beach which had a sign in the window for $6.00 haircuts. Beth was gonna get her back of her head trimmed, but once she saw the insides, decided to go for something a little less permanent - fingernail painting. The person who took our names at the front desk barely spoke English and insisted about three times that we were both getting haircuts until this lady on his left explained to him "HAIRCUT" (pointing to me) "FINGERNAILS" pointing to Beth. I was escorted to my chair where the lady took about 8 minutes to wrap some tissue paper around my neck. She said "alright? alright?" She then straped my cape on and fiddled around with her sheers. She barely knew how to turn on the buzzers. Once they were up and running, she shoulted over the grinding "WHAT NUMBER?" referring to the guard that goes on the mini-machine. I dont know, i hate questions like that. Wouldn't she know better? I said one just to have her stop saying "WHAT NUMBER" over and over. She worked slowly until her teacher stepped in and rammed the buzzers back and forth really hard.. It was like he was trying to grind out my hair, rather than cut it. I am pretty sure the buzzers were too dirty to cut, anways. Teacher kept sayign "cow lick" over and over until she cleaned up the back of my neck and i gave her the tip i was supposed to split between my haircutter and Beth's nail painter.