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Mr. Martin trains two new employees by Manny

“I think it’s time that young Tim here learn the value of hard work, saving and investment," the lad’s father, Mr. Jefferson, pontificated as they sat in the cramped room of the grocery store manager.

Timmy looked and felt utterly miserable. All this friends were spending the day with their skateboards at the park…and he was trapped by his preachy, domineering father under the censorious glare of the seedy, scowling store manager, Mr. Martin.

“I fully agree," stated Mr. Martin. “If we can get boys onto a good, straight path at this age, they will reap rewards their whole life."

While the two men agreed on this one particular issue, they could not appear more different. Behind the small desk, piled high with assorted bills and purchase invoices, the grocer looked grubby. His rough hands and nails caked with some sort of produce debris contrasted to Mr. Jefferson’s salon manicure and sophisticated signet ring. The white coverall jacket on the grocer was frayed and stained, quite unlike the expensive wool Canali suit with solid gold cuff links the executive wore. And then their hair " the grocer’s severe MPB accented by a clipped wrap-around fringe looked so pathetic when compared to the thick mane of lush mahogany crowning Mr. Jefferson.

The grocer continued, “Now, are you planning for him to bag groceries just on Saturdays? Or perhaps Tim would benefit more if he also came here straight after school and stocked shelves for three hours each day."

“You do understand, this is not for the money. We live in Maple Miles, that new development, next to Estates Shore," Tim’s father said, emphasizing his credentials as a wealthy professional.

“Ah, yes, quite posh. Very nice. In other words, Tim here was born with a silver spoon in his mouth. Because of that, I strongly urge the after school hours plus the Saturday schedule. Too much idle time for lads like Tim means trouble. No, keep them busy. Keep them productive! And, push them to give it their all. That’s my philosophy " tried and true," crowed Mr. Martin.

“I started out in humble circumstances, and look at me now!" chimed in Mr. Jefferson. “Yes, this was gained through hard work….not idle Saturdays, zealously pursuing leisure."

“But, Dad!" Timmy protested. “When will I spend time with my friends? They are all at the park skateboarding now."

“Oh, my," murmured Mr. Martin. “I see I have my work cut out for me. And speaking of ‘cut out’ that reminds me of ‘cut off’. We need to do something about the boy’s hair. I don’t see how parents allow this sort of thing."

Timmy’s face turned red, half in embarrassment and half in anger. He flicked his thick brown tresses that were fashioned into a droopy moptop. Long, floppy hair that crept toward his shoulders.

Mr. Martin pulled a set of electric clippers and a cape out from a drawer in his desk. “We’ll take care of this right now. All my baggers and stock boys sport the same haircut. A #3 on top and a #1 on the sides. That is, unless they’ve been disciplined. Then it’s a #0 all over. It keeps them humble, and saves me from having them mouth off periodically."

“No way!" Timmy protested.

Mr. Martin stood up and towered over the lad. “I see, you’ll be starting off your new career as a bagger with a #0 butch! Is that what you want?"

Timmy’s eyes plead with his father.

“Cooperate, please, son! It’s for the best. Mr. Martin is right. We should not have allowed all that hair on you…looking like a girl." His father’s consent doomed the moptop and meant that he was going forward with his insane idea of making Timmy work after school during the week and on Saturdays. As a bagger! A servile grocery store bagger. How humiliated he would feel if his rich friends saw him bagging groceries at Mr. Martin’s store.

“No need to get up or move. We’ll take care of this right here, right now," Mr. Martin said, reaching for the cape.

Timmy sat frozen in fear and paralyzed with anger. Mr. Martin fumbled with the cape, trying to fasten it under the lush, interfering locks.

“The sooner we clip all this overgrowth off, the better!" chirped Mr. Martin. “And, the haircuts are free. I rather enjoy tidying up the boys. And, the ‘welcome to Martin’s Grocer’ makeover is always my favorite."

After the cape was in place, Mr. Martin’s attention turned to Mr. Jefferson’s mane. He eyed the carefully stylized executive coif, with the shimmering mahogany locks swept back " full and thick on the sides and back.

Mr. Jefferson felt a bit uneasy as the grocer reached for the clippers, still observing the stylized coif. The grocer did not try to conceal the fact that he was giving Mr. Jefferson’s hair careful scrutiny as he snapped on the clippers.

“Oh, my! So much hair," Mr. Martin said, still looking at the Mr. Jefferson’s mane with total disapproval but seemingly referring to his son’s as he tussled the moptop briefly.

Mr. Martin’s chuckled to himself. Yes, father and son would leave sporting the same haircut if he played his cards right. The thought made him smile -- the insufferable, preachy Mr. Jefferson would be the next under the cape. And, his fussy executive style would soon give way to the clippers.

Mr. Martin’s clippers were very efficient. The first drive up through Timmy’s long bangs and across the top of the lad’s head sent sheaves of his shiny brown hair to the cape and floor. Timmy felt like he was in boot camp.

“Nice to see my son’s eyes again," Mr. Jefferson noted, with a tone of levity in his voice.

Mr. Martin looked up from his work and addressed the father. “Yes, a tidy no-nonsense haircut does wonders for a fellow, don’t you think?"

“Totally! He needs to shed the slacker look and fall in with a more productive, regimented set. I totally agree. It was a bit hard convincing his mother of this, but. Well, in my house, the man still wears the pants!" Mr. Jefferson shifted in his chair and crossed his leg so that his expensive Bruno Magli loafers were showcased.

“When the boys look like girls and the ladies act like men, well, that spells trouble!" Mr. Martin exclaimed as continued taking Timmy’s top down to a #3. He was surprised to see how still and submissive the lad was under the cape. “You’re making a very good impression on me, Tim. Sitting nice and still, so cooperative."

“If I had a choice…." Timmy murmured.

“Well, you don’t!" his father snapped.

Just then, Mr. Martin swapped the guard and began to tackle the back with the #1. He forced Timmy’s head low. The soft brown hair fell away, leaving only a tidy pelt of short bristles. “After we finish with the haircut, I’ll get you outfitted with a store apron and we’ll sit you down for a tutorial on the correct way to bag groceries. I have a workbook that you can complete while I tidy up your father."

Mr. Jefferson’s face clearly revealed his shock at that statement. Tidy up his father?! What was the grocer thinking? Not his hair!

“I don’t…" Mr. Jefferson began to stammer.

But the grocery store manager cut Mr. Jefferson’s objection off effectively. “There! Finished with the boy. And, now, the dad’s turn in the chair. No backtalk allowed, understood, Mr. Jefferson? That thatch you’ve sprouted needs a good pruning. Getting boys in shape sometimes requires a bit of work with the fathers, as well." He tapped the chair authoritatively.

Timmy burst into a smile. He was thrilled that his father was going to get the same humiliating treatment from the grocery store manager. The other thing that made the lad smile was exploring the bristles on his clipped head. It felt so cool, so stimulating!

Mr. Jefferson felt totally chastened and inexplicably helpless in the face of Mr. Martin’s order. He uncrossed his leg, as a prelude to standing and moving towards the grocer’s barber chair.

“Here’s the workbook, Tim. You can sit at my desk," Mr. Martin said before turning to the father, “And, you, sir. It’s your turn here, in the barber chair. Now, don’t make me wait!"

Mr. Jefferson felt his cock stir. What?! He suddenly felt strangely grateful to the grocer. The thought of being ordered to take a seat for an awful amateur haircut excited him.

Abruptly, Mr. Jefferson stood and approached the chair. All of Timmy’s hair was at Mr. Martin’s feet…and his own shimmering locks were on the verge of adding significantly to the collection.

He pawed nervously at his silken mane. “I did have an appointment at the salon for Tuesday. Trixie, she…."

“Trixie?! Well, that explains the awful overgrowth," Mr. Martin sighed as he shook his head and snapped open the cape.

Timmy continued to explore his clipped head as he got to work on the instructional guide about bagging groceries. The feel of the stubble was quite stimulating.

Once the cape was in place, Mr. Martin checked to make sure Timmy was on the right page. “Rule number one, meat always goes in a separate bag, away from the other groceries….see the diagram here, son," he murmured as he gently stroked the lad’s pelt.

“I get it, oh, and cleaning products apart from food," the lad said, smiling at the grocer. “How short are you going to cut my father’s hair?"

The grocer walked back over to the caped father who squirmed in the chair, under the cape. “What do you say? Were you just a little curious to see what a #0 butch cut looked like?"

“Oh, no! Mr. Martin, please! I’m an investment banker, I have an image to uphold," Mr. Jefferson stammer.

Mr. Martin grasped the lovely, soft, pampered hair and played with it a bit. “Tim, give me a number between 0 and 3."

Timmy smiled from ear to ear as he signaled a big “goose egg". ZERO!

Mr. Martin carefully swapped the blade right in front of Mr. Jefferson’s frightened, excited eyes. He snapped on the machine.

“One baldy, coming up!" the grocer announced. “This will help you learn a bit of humility….all that bragging about the estate at Maple Mile."

Mr. Jefferson nearly exploded as the clippers moved into his dense locks. The vibration of the metal teeth on top of his head made it necessary to stifle a heave.

“Nice and still, Mr. Jefferson, as I peel off this girlish hair. You don’t want me taking off one of your ears in the process, do you?" the grocer taunted.

“No, sir," he replied, sitting very still and submissive.

The buzzing went on in silence as Mr. Jefferson’s head was slowly clipped to almost nothing. The excitement of seeing his pampered hair pile up on his lap, made Mr. Jefferson’s groin stir.

“I think you need a little stint as a bagger. Saturdays, let’s say. Tim can hang out with his friends while you come in and bag groceries in his place."

“But that’s my day to play golf," Mr. Jefferson stammered.

“Listen, Baldy! You are going to bag groceries on Saturdays! Is that understood? If not, the paddle I keep for my special learners like you might need to be put to use!" The grocer gave Mr. Jefferson’s newly exposed ear a firm twist that ached.

“Oh! Yes, I’ll bag the groceries on Saturdays so Tim can spend time with his friends.

The grocer smirked. Mr. Jefferson was a quick learner! “Tim, you run on down to the warehouse and ask Jake to fit you out with a new apron. Your father and I need to discuss a little more business!"

Timmy could not conceal his glee as he left the manager’s small office. His father looked so different with a #0 butch! Tim paused a bit after closing the door to listen in. Mr. Martin was his hero!

There was a bit of a tussle. “Lean over the desk, Mr. Jefferson. Why even your underpants are designer labels!" the grocer said in a mocking tone.


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