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The severe flat top by barberboy
At the time, my hair had always been long almost all my life. My mother never cared about the length, just so long it was clean and tidy. Dad however openly expressed he wanted it short. Once, when I accidently broke one of my grandmothers vases did he "teach me a lesson" by having my blond hair cut to a short back and sides. Boy did I get a ribbing. However, in the summer just before my 14th birthday, I had sneaked a couple of dads beers into my bedroom. I was drinking one when my dad burst in. He took one look at the Carlsburg in my hand before exploding at me. He said how much trouble I had been lately and how only one punishment would set me straight. "Neil, You are going to the barbers to have a severe haircut, and you WILL keep it. That way you won't do this kind of thing again!"
With that, he grabbed me and dragged me to the car. After a short drive we arrived outside a small barbershop. Dad marched me in, where I saw an old barber giving a man in a red leather chair an extremely short haircut. He was facing away from the mirror, and many tufts of black hair was littered on the white cape. The barber soon finished and turned the chair round so it faced the mirror. He then showed the back of the mans head. The client seemed pleased and got up, thanking the barber as he payed.
The barber smiled when he saw my dad. "Hello John. Didn't I see you yesterday?"
"Well Kirk, my son Neil here has been a lot of trouble lately. Today he took my beers and drank them underage! I've decided he will have to have a no nonsense clipping. He'll be receiving one of you shortest haircuts today."
"Can't see anything better for this then to be shaved to the bone."
"Unfortunately his school has rules against head shaving"
"How about a high and tight horseshoe flat, number 1 shoe and shave all the rest?"
"That seems perfect"
My dad then grabbed me and forced me into the chair. Kirk turned the chair so it faced my dad and placed a tissue of my neck. I didn't know what was in store for me, but it didn't sound promising. Kirk snapped the white cape on, before telling me to put my head down.
I then heard the sound of buzzing, before feeling a cold metal object move up the back of my head, all the way to the crown. My hair fell, leaving a strip at the back of my head bare. I realised that the dreaded clippers would soon give the same treatment to the rest of my hair. More passes of the clippers followed, before Kirk moved round and started moving the clippers up the left side of my head. The curtain of hair normally covering my ear fell away. Kirk moved fast shaving up to my temple, and getting the hair tucked behind my ear as well. Soon the right side went, with a mound of sandy blond hair falling in clumps on the cape and the floor.
Kirk then placed an attachment on the clippers and pushed them through my fringe all the way to meet my shaven crown. More passes had all my blond hair taken off, appearing on my shoulders. He then took the attachment off the clippers and-to my horror-ran it down the middle of my head, just behind my ruined fringe. He kept doing this so my head felt almost bare. He then grabbed a comb and scissors, and snipped the ring of bristles on my head to a uniform length. Just as I thought the ordeal was over, a shaving brush appeared, covering almost all my head in white, except the ring of bristles at the front. Then he shaved my head with a razor, leaving only skin behind. Now it really was over. He then brushed all the stray hair off my head, before spinning the chair around to reveal my haircut.
It was so brutally short, I wanted to cry. The sides were bare, as was the huge strip on the top of my head and both so pale. I guessed the back was like that to. Inspecting the top, I only saw a thin U shape of hair left, all cut almost to the scalp anyway, and all standing absolutely straight up. When Kirk showed the back, my suspicions were correct-not a single hair in sight. Both Kirk and my dad were grinning.
"Excellent" Dad said "He will be coming for regular trims"
Kirk was still smiling when he took off the cape, sending a cascade of hair onto the floor. I rubbed my head, and all I felt was a small amount of stubble and smooth skin. I was already hating it. Dad payed Kirk and took me back to the car. My mum loved it, and I was doomed to keep this horror of a haircut. School was bad, as you would expect, with everyone taking the mick. But after the first few weeks, things settled down. Heck, even a couple of my rebellious mates were shaved by their parents for bad behaviour after my dad recommended the punishment to them! And even some girls liked it, loving the feel of it.
After that, I never messed with Dad again. As I got better, I was allowed to ditch the landing strip and get a regular short flat top. But I always went for the horseshoe again, as I had grown accustomed to the feel of it, and had started to love the crisp, clean shaven look. Even now, when in a barbers, I always tell them the same thing: high and tight horseshoe flat, number 1 shoe and shave all the rest.