Page 106 of Knot Your Sunshine
I drop my head into my hands, fingers pressing into my temples where a headache pounds with each heartbeat. Revenue totals that include tax in some rows but not others. Franchise locations listed with ZIP codes that don't match their actual addresses. Customer acquisition costs calculated using different time periods within the same report. There's really no way these spreadsheets aren't deliberately designed to be incomprehensible.
I push back from the desk, chair wheels squeaking against the silence. My neck aches from hunching over the screen. My eyes burn from staring at numbers that refuse to make sense.
Through my window, dawn breaks over the ocean. Somewhere out there, my franchisees have already been up for hours, working their asses off while I'm stuck here, drowning in spreadsheets that might as well be written in ancient Greek.
Numbers are just information, you learn from it, you adjust, you fight harder…
But how am I supposed to learn from something that doesn't make sense?
I close my eyes for a moment, thinking hard. Then I'm back there, eight years old, walking with Grandma past the hair salons outside Lakeview. She'd point out which ones were doing well without ever seeing their books. She read it all in body language: how clients moved, how stylists carried themselves, the energy that spilled onto the sidewalk…
"The truth is in the community, Mia," she'd say, squeezing my shoulder. "Always watch how people feel when they leave."
I stare at the closed laptop, a new thought crystallizing.
She's right. Like she already knew back then, numbers are just one type of information. And they sure aren't the only way to tell a story.
I grab my phone and open Instagram, searching for one of my franchise locations.
The profile loads, and my breath catches.
A before-and-after posted yesterday. A woman's transformation from grown-out roots and split ends to glossy waves that catch the studio lighting. The caption:"She listened to me for TWO HOURS about my nightmare job while fixing three years of box dye disasters. I came in for a haircut, I left feeling like myself again."
847 likes.
I scroll to the comments:
"WHERE is this??? i need this energy in my life"
"drove 40min each way yesterday. already booked my next appointment!"
Forty minutes. Someone drove forty minutes for a haircut.
I screenshot everything, fingers moving faster now, then search for another location.
The Google reviews load.
"Listen, I'm picky AF about my hair. Been to nearly every salon in my city. But this place? They actually LISTENED when I said I wanted copper highlights, not orange. And the vibe is unmatched. Felt like hanging with friends who happen to be hair wizards."
Five stars.
Another:"Took my mom here for her 60th birthday. They made her feel like a queen. She hasn't stopped talking about it. Already booked the next one."
Five stars.
"Found my new monthly self-care day now thanks to this place. It's not just the hair (which is AMAZING btw). It's the whole experience. It's like... they actually care?"
Five stars.
My fingers tremble as I search for another one of my locations.
A local beauty influencer posted about them three days ago. The caption:"Y'ALL. Just spent three hours here and I'm OBSESSED. Not just with my hair (swipe for the glow-up) but with the whole experience. This is what hair care should feel like."
3,847 shares.
Over three thousand shares. For a post about a local hair salon.
I click through to the comments. People tagging friends. Planning group appointments. Asking about availability.
