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The plan. by Domko
sorry for my weak english
This story is from the time I was 14.5 years old in 1975. And I know it from hearing.
As a little boy, I used to go to an old-fashioned barber shop with my father, but later I went to a modern barber shop with my mother and started wearing long hair, which I loved, and now I go there alone. When I was 13, a new classmate, Filip, whose father was a military officer, came to class. Filip used to be regularly cut for a very short time. At first I laughed at him after the haircut with the other classmates, but gradually I found out that I liked it and I mentioned my short hairstyles when I went to Ricardo's barber shop with my father, which my father still goes to. I started collecting pictures of soldiers with short hairstyles or boyish hairstyles around 1950.
I found out that there are 2 old-fashioned barbers in the city. In addition to Ricardo's barber shop, there is also Pablo's barber shop. I started watching both. I was interested in the hairstyles of the boys who dropped these barbershops. The boys had short hairstyles from both barbershops, but I liked more hairstyles from Pablo's barber shop. I would like to have a haircut with him, but I was afraid of the reactions of the surroundings. I couldn't tell my father that I wanted to go to an old-fashioned barber shop and not a modern barber shop. That's why I started making a plan to do it.
When my father started sending me to the barber, I ignored his orders because I knew he would later threaten to take me to Ricardo's barber shop. His last warning was when he told me: Michael, you have one last chance for your haircut by Friday, because I'll take you to my barber on Saturday. I knew he meant it, so I started making small bets between my friends and at school between my classmates if I could voluntarily get a short haircut. At school, a classmate told me that how do I mean short? He wanted me to clarify. I looked around the classroom and pointed at Philip. Such a short hairstyle as Filip wears. There was laughter, but no one believed it, so they made bets without any problems.
At breakfast on Saturday, my father told me to say goodbye to my hair because we were going to his barber. I started begging him not to go to Ricardo's barber shop, because as a boy I had trauma with him. My father objected that he would definitely not go with me to the modern saloon. But after a while he said: All right, let's go to Pablo's barber shop. This step of my plan also worked. So that it doesn't look like I'm looking forward to a short haircut, I tried to convince my father on the way that the barber would just fix my hair.
After entering the barber shop, we sat down on waiting chairs, where 3 old ladies and a mother with a son of about 10 years old were already sitting. The barber called another. The boy got up and went to the barber. When the barber asked his mother how it will be said today, as always, it was clear to me that they come here regularly. I enjoyed cutting it. The boy left the chair and his hairstyle was very short. Gradually, the old gentlemen were also cut. I realized that it would be my turn, but fear began to take over. Before the barber called another, the door opened and Filip and his younger brother entered the barber shop. I almost froze. I didn't count on this in my plan.
The barber called another, my father grabbed my hand and told me to sit there. When the father asked the barber what to do with this boy's hair, the father replied: Cut him off like the boy who was here with his mother. I noticed a barber's smile in the mirror. He took the scissors and tilted my head back. He took large scissors, oiled them and placed them on his forehead. I felt them vibrate and climb the top of my head. I was out of sight of the mirror, so I didn't see how long the hair remained on my head. When he tilted my head to my side I saw very short hair on my scalp. The barber worked with the scissors quickly. Soon my whole head was only about 1/2 inch long. He changed the scissors he put over my cheeks and started chasing, it was a weaker shake on my head. I have already seen my skin on my temporal bone and soon above my ear. He soon did so on the other side of my head, and then he tilted my head forward and climbed with scissors from the neck to the top of my head. He made the transition from the small stubble to the top of the head with scissors using a comb. I'm already waiting for me to get me out of my seat. I look in the mirror and see Philip smiling. The barber moistened my head and started applying white cream. He grinds the razor on a leather belt fastened to the edge of the seat. He tilted my head again and scraped the white cream on the left side of my head then on the right. He leaned his head forward and began scratching the back of my head. I don't know how high he started scratching but I think at the level of the upper part of the ears. When he wiped the remaining white cream from my head, he asked my father if he was satisfied. The father replied that this was a sufficient punishment for a disobedient son. A sentence Philip hadn't heard and laughed at. The barber stood behind me with a small mirror. I have 2 inches of white skin over my ears and 4/5 of the back of my head is completely shaved.
As I walked past Philip, he remarked: Nice hair from my father.
Meeting Philip at the barber disrupted my plan. I have to come up with something by Monday