Couldn't Help Myself / A Cleanup by hairdesade

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(Both stories of two versions of the same thing. The first is from the barber's perspective. The second is from the client's perspective. Read one, both or neither and in any order. Tell me which you like more or if you like them equally.)

"Couldn't Help Myself"

I finished cleaning up his neck before undoing the cape. As the sizable clippings of straight black hair slid to the floor, I caught my the eyes of my "client" in the mirror. The clipper shave look fit him. Of course, I left 1/8 inch of stubble for his sake. The late-20-something businessman had walked in with a head of thick hair. The hair on his sides grazed the top of his ears, and the hair on top of his head was full and grown-out. He asked for a businessman's cut (of course), but I ... couldn't help myself. When I started the haircut, he seemed talkative, yet as the clippers made each pass up his head, he grew uneasy. By the end, not a word left his lips. He left without paying or saying a word. I didn't mind. The locks littering my floor was payment enough.

After he left, I sat in my barber's chair, flipping through a trash magazine, not paying attention to the celebrity gossip but rather giving my eyes something to do while I waited for another client to walk in. Usually, I waited at least an hour, if I was lucky. Most of the locals knew that I favored my vision for their hair more than theirs. So, I had to rely on the "generosity" of strangers who were out of town and wandered into the shop.

Yet, today was different. Barely five minutes passed since the last customer and the tinkling of the bell atop the door resounded throughout the shop. Careful not to seem too eager, I set down the magazine slowly and stood from the chair.

"Welcome!" I gestured toward the seat. I waited for the young man to sit before I inspected him. He appeared in his early 20s, probably a student at the nearby college. It would explain his hairstyle. It was too long, but not short either. The hair covered his ears and his collar. The brunette locks shimmered in the incandescent light due to their thick waves that lapped over his forehead.

"I attend the U down the street so not much money, you know? I don't come in for haircuts a lot, and this place seemed like a good deal." He ran a hand through his golden chocolate mane, and I quivered. I could hardly contain my excitement at such a catch.

"I understand," I responded. I didn't say much more because my voice would begin to shake from the ecstasy of the moment. Most clients that walked in were hardly of this caliber, usually balding, older men. But this one had a head of full, thick hair--even better than the businessman who was quite good business. I snapped out of the trance and realized the awkward silence. "Excuse me," I started. "What can I do for you today?"

The young man slid a hand up the back of his head, sending the overgrown mane into an even more wilder position. "Well, since my budget is tight, let's do a cleanup. I just want the hair off the ears and collar and cut a little, just a little, off the top." After the instructions, I thought I could work with them. I could get him how I wanted before the alarm was raised. But first, I wanted to spend time with that hair.

"It's a slow day. How about a free shampoo?"

"Ugh, sure. I can't say no to that. Not in position." No, you can't, I thought. I spun the chair so that he faced away from the mirror while the headrest faced the sink, then reclined him back until his neck hit the sink's rest. I turned on the faucets and mixed the hot and cold until it felt just right. Then, I passed one hand through his dry hair before spraying it with water. It felt better than I thought. So soft and warm and wavy. My fingers could have easily gotten tangled in it. But it would be a bigger pleasure to cut it. I wetted the hair and massaged soap into it. The limp and damp locks clung to my fingers, and I became more anxious to begin. I hurriedly finished the shampoo and had him in an upright position as I towel-dried his hair then used a blowdryer on it just to make sure it was ready for the cut. The volume of the hair had me spinning. It poofed out like a lion's mane, but perhaps it was more like a sheep's wool begging for the shears.

I took the folded up cape and flicked it over him like a parachute making its final descent to the ground. I slid a tissue around his neck then fastened the cape with three hard snaps. To hint at my control of the situation, I patted the cape down around his neck, ensuring it was snug.

"How about I start with a number 4 on the sides? That will leave you with a half inch," I asked the young client as I slid a 0 guard onto the clippers.

"Ugh, sounds good to me." I thought I detected a slight shake in his voice, but then I thought, A guy with hair this long would probably be nervous with just a half-inch on the sides anyway.

I switched the clippers on, and they filled the shop with their whirring. I pressed his head down so that his chin touched the cape, then I placed the clippers at the base of his neck and slid them upwards. The amount of hair that fell at the first pass nearly overwhelmed me! At least an inch of brown wavy hair cascaded to the floor. I kept making passes and went as far up as I thought I could get away with. Unsure of what was going on, the client's face had a hint of worry, but nothing that seemed upsetting. I made short work of the back (get it? short work! ha!) and moved to the left side. I stripped his sideburn and replaced it with 1/16 inch of stubble. I folded his ear down and took the clippers over them and by now thick chunks of hair were sliding down the cape, tantalizing their former owner.

"Wow, who knew 'off the ears' could make such a big difference!" He joked with a sad mixture of confidence and dread.

"Yes, it can be startling," I remarked with the emotion of a robot. I was lost in my work. I peeled off the hair on the left, then moved to the right. More clumps of brown hair hit the cape. By now, the man had clipper shaved sides and a giant poof of hair on top. He looked like a poodle fresh from the groomers, but this little poodle wasn't finished yet.

I went back to my drawers to change out the guard. This would require some cunning. He'd know the minute I used clippers on the top that his instructions had been disregarded. Well, that never concerned me before. I suppose this will be another haircut I won't be receiving payment for, I mused silently, as I slid on a number 3 attachment. I made my way back to the chair and breathed in. My favorite part. Then, I summoned back my strength to place the powerful clips at his forehead and flick them on before he could react. I slid them back into the waves and watched as they spilled onto the cape and floor like a lake flooded by storms. After I reduced a strip to bristles, the client jumped but remained silent.

"Everything alright? I asked. I couldn't be rude, I thought deviously, having pleased myself.

"I just ... I asked for a little off the top," he groaned.

"Oh!" I cried, feigning astonishment. "I thought you said a little on the top! Well, I can't stop now."

I plowed the clippers through the thick hair on top, watching it topple quite easily. It was a jungle crumbling under the pressure of my bulldozers. When I finished, his freshly shorn cut looked quite smart. I ran a hand over the bristles, from the left side of his head to the top. I became so aroused that I almost didn't notice him wince. I blended the sides with the top, then brought out the edgers. I cleaned up his neck and began edging out the hairline when I ... couldn't help myself. I started running the tiny shavers up back and watched the minuscule hairs float to the ground. I repeated it with the sides. Then I blended the top again.

Finally, I noticed some stubble on his face. These slobbish college students, I chided him silently. I took the shavers to his chin. He appeared uneasy but allowed me nonetheless. I cleaned up his neck, running them underneath his chin, then stripped his checks of any hair. My work complete, I turned the chair toward the mirror and his eyes widened. He seemed on the verge of shedding a tear, but to be fair, he seemed rather stronger. A hand slowly lifted from under the cape and felt the bristles. He turned his head different directions to get a view, then rubbed his face. He seemed please with the facial shave. The head shave ... not so much. He didn't appear as upset anymore, but didn't seem pleased. That's why it surprised me when he wordlessly handed me the $8 for the cut after I undid the cape. It aroused me even more as the long, wavy hairs slid off.

He headed for the door, and I caught one last look at my work, the brown hairs standing at attention on the top of his head and his sides carrying barely visible stubble. He definitely received his cleanup. As he walked out, before he let the door swing shut, he looked back and smirked. "I won't be needing a haircut for awhile, so I guess you saved me some money."

"Oh yes," I responded. "Don't do any 2 week maintenance cuts or the like. No, save the money. Grow that hair out nice and shaggy before you see me again."

He shrugged and offered a "maybe." What more could I hope for?

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"A Cleanup"

Oh, I needed a cut. Bad. School ate up most of my money, even after pinching pennies from staying in for dinner and working 20 to 30 hours a week. I couldn't afford monthly haircuts. Hell, even after waiting for months, I couldn't even afford a trip to a hair salon or an upscale barbershop. No, those places charged 20, 30, maybe even 35 dollars a cut and I could use that money elsewhere. I could spend some of that to finally go out and have a night with friends. Needless to say, a local place I hadn't experienced offered cheap, $8 haircuts. It was just called the Barber Shop. A generic name with no frills.

The shop turned out the same way. When I located it on the edge of downtown, on the cusp of being a part of the country, it was squished between two vacant spaces in the plaza that housed it. Not much business this side of town. From the outside, I could see it was just a one-chair shop and of course small with just 3 waiting chairs. I ran my fingers through my over 5-inch long hair and ran them down the back too which felt just as shaggy, covering my ears and collar. I gulped some air then walked through the single door to the shop. Tinkling bells alerted my presence as the barber cooly lowered his reading material and rose from the old-fashioned barber chair. He appeared in his early to mid 30s, but didn't look like a barber. Well, he wore a tunic and his face seemed fine, but his hair. It was quite blonde and thin, yes, but it caught me off guard that it was long. Not quite as long mine, but it covered a good part of his forehead and the sides threatened to spill over his ears.

"Welcome!" he exclaimed, perhaps excited to have a customer. The place didn't seem like it got much business although fairly long chunks of black hair littered the floor around the chair so there must have been at least one customer today. The amount of hair on the floor suggested there might even have been two or three. He gestured toward the chair and I took a seat, its plush covering enveloping me as if in a warm embrace. I laid my arms on the rests, feeling a little uncomfortable. I hadn't sat in a chair like this before.

"I attend the U down the street so not much money, you know? I don't come in for haircuts a lot, and this place seemed like a good deal." I ran a hand through my golden chocolate mane, feeling the soft waves and exaggerating the extent of my hair problem.

"I understand," he responded. I sat waiting awhile, looking around. With the chair facing the mirror, I glanced at the various tools on the counter. I saw several sets of clippers and some shears. Various clipper guards were organized by size on a white towel. I became more uncomfortable because the barber didn't say anything. I thought I should maybe give him my instructions. Perhaps that was wait he was waiting on, but he caught me before I could speak. "Excuse me," he started. "What can I do for you today?"

I slid a hand up the back of my head again, sending the overgrown mane into an even more wilder position. "Well, since my budget is tight, let's do a cleanup. I just want the hair off the ears and collar and cut a little, just a little, off the top." I tried to emphasize the last point. The barber seemed nice, but I didn't trust him. I thought a barber in his 60s with a flattop or shaved head would scare me. But a younger barber with long wisps of hair startled me more. It might be different if I was in a salon and a male hairdresser at longer, styled hair, but this barber left his hair virtually uncombed.

"It's a slow day. How about a free shampoo?" He asked.

"Ugh, sure. I can't say no to that. Not in position." A shampoo sounded nice. He relaxed a little as he spun the chair around and washed my hair. He put me upright again and began drying, first with the towel then the blowdryer. I could feel my hair taking up more space. I was surprised though when he didn't turn me to face the mirror after the wash. Instead, he flicked his pin-striped nylon cape over me. Then, he place a tissue around my neck. When he snapped the cape into place, it felt tight. He pushed it down, trying to expose as much as my nape as possible I thought.

"How about I start with a number 4 on the sides? That will leave you with a half inch," He questioned.

"Ugh, sounds good to me."I tried not to sound nervous. I mean, it had been awhile, obviously, since clippers touched my head. I was ready for a haircut after so many months, but the experience felt foreign now after all the time since my last cut.

He brought the clippers to life and I felt the teeth resting on my neck before the slid upward. I thought the cut felt a little close, but it always feels that way with clippers. It had been a few months since I had a cut, so I probably had forgotten the feel of them, I decided. But wow, he took them up high. I was worried he was going to accidentally shear the top. After finishing the back, he moved to the side. He started at the base of my sideburn and traveled up. This time, I could see the hair fall the cape. The clumps were huge, tumbling down the cape. My heart beat a little faster and I felt sick almost. Yet, I reasoned with myself that he was only leaving a half-inch behind so it was going to be a lot of hair taken off. Just then, I felt him pass the hungry clippers above my ears and a blob of hair fell, allowing the weak breeze from the AC to blow over my ears.

"Wow, who knew 'off the ears' could make such a big difference!" I joked with a sad mixture of confidence and dread. I didn't want it too short.

"Yes, it can be startling," He remarked, seemingly without any concern. Of course, I didn't expect him to be concerned, but I expected a little more emotion.

He moved to the right side of my head and attacked it with the same speed and fury as the left, separating the wavy locks from my head. I could feel the dense hair still resting on my head, out of place probably with my short sides. He returned to the counter to grab shears. I waited for a comb to rake through my head, but instead he was upon me like a hawk and the shriek of the clippers returned once more, but before I could react their teeth plunged into my bangs, obliterating any hope of the haircut I wanted becoming reality. I jumped slightly and thought I'd be sick. My stomach twisted as I knew, no matter what guard he used, my hair would be quite shorter than I'd wanted.

"Everything alright?" he asked as if not noticing his error.

I wanted to scream, to jump up in fury, but I was in the weaker position. "I just ... I asked for a little off the top," I groaned. I sounded pathetic.

"Oh!" he cried. "I thought you said a little on the top! Well, I can't stop now." No, he was right about that. I sat motionless, 4 or more inches (who knew?) of my hair joining the graveyard of lucks. I glanced down to inspect the mass of hair and thought, Maybe it was just one person's hair after all. After he finished the top, he rubbed his hand over my head and I crouched low, startled by the action like prey caught in a cage, afraid of the hunter's next move. I thought the torture just might be over, this haircut from hell ending, but then he brought out a tiny set of clippers that made a sound like a bee or fly buzzing. I felt him cleaning up the hair on my neck then edging out the hairline. Then, he just slid them up the back of my head. Shock crippled me. He shaved down the back, then the sides, erasing any signs of hair having existed there. Then he took a comb and blended the sides with the top.

Lastly, when I thought he would undo the cape, he began shaving my neck and face with the tiny clippers, buzzing off small amounts of stubble. After that final touch, the clippers finally flicked off. I sighed, but quickly braced for the moment of pain: seeing the new look. He spun the chair around and a new man sat in the chair, completely unlike the one who sat in it about 10 or so minutes ago. The white skin of the sides glowed in the shop's lighting, and the top offered no hint of the waves that once flowed on it. Instead, the hair remained even and straight. I lifted a hand felt the sandpaper of my sides and the bristles on top. I didn't recognize myself, and now I could barely stand myself. I tried to hide my disgust, which I really think was shock more than anything. He undid the cape and the locks that clung to it slid off. I handed him a five and three ones, the $8 for the cut and walked to the door. I opened it, but before I let it shut, I smirked at him. It wasn't satisfaction, but it wasn't displeasure. "I won't be needing a haircut for awhile, so I guess you saved me some money."

"Oh yes," he responded. "Don't do any 2 week maintenance cuts or the like. No, save the money. Grow that hair out nice and shaggy before you see me again."

I shrugged and said, "Maybe." Six months later, the shock will be gone. I can come back again and have another "cleanup."

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