Yes, sir. by friendsdontletfriendshavehair

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First story on here. Hope you like it and please share any feedback!

As I sat in the job interview, I could feel the sweat beading on my forehead. Sure, All the Buzz Insurance Firm may not be the most modern out there, but it was well-respected. Honestly, I expected to be turned away when I submitted my application, and was happy to be considered.

"I’ll be honest, Tim. You’ve impressed me today," said Ted Carlton, the interviewer sitting across from me. A higher up at the company, at least from what I gathered from the ancient looking website, Ted was a fit man in his early thirties, his chiseled jaw only highlighted by his short military haircut. He had grown out stubble on the sides and the top was styled into a flattop.

"Thank you, I’m happy to hear that," I replied.

"Sir," was all he said.

I responded with a look of confusion, unsure of what the man meant, and not looking to make a mistake in front of someone who could offer me an opportunity.

"You will address me as Sir, understood?" Ted questioned.

"Oh, yes sure… uh… Sir," I responded, still confused.

"In fact, Tim… I’m prepared to offer you this role, but there is one thing stopping me," Mr. Carlton said, running his fingers through the short bristles on the top of his head.

"Oh? I would love to have a chance at this opportunity. If there’s anything I can do, please let me know," I said, which produced a grin on the lips of Mr. Carlton.

"Oh, you can do something about it, in short order in fact. The clientele for this firm is very prestigious, but skews to the older side. Older, traditional men, you know the type?" Mr. Carlton questioned.

"I suppose I do, but what does that have to do with me?" I questioned.

"What this has to do with you is that these men will prefer to deal with clean cut, professional businessmen," he explained, eyeing the long, yet manageable brown mop on my head. "Lucky for you," he continued, "I’m headed out to the barber right after our meeting. If you’d like, we can take care of that mop you have, then come back here, ink some contracts and the job will be yours."

I sat, hesitant. My hair had never been cut by a real, traditional barber, and in that moment, I feared the shearing that I knew would come. Led by something, whether it was nerves or a secret desire I’d always had to sport a short haircut, I nodded my head. Pleased, Mr. Carlton rose, ushering me out the door, down the elevator, and into a town car waiting outside.

About 5 minutes later, he led me out of the car and into a single chair barbershop that appeared straight out of the 1950s. In the chair sat an older man nearly scalped by the barber, with the skin on the sides of his head completely exposed and only a tinge of dark hair present on the top of his head. The barber, an older, stocky man stood above him, somehow managing to cut into the barely existent pelt on the customer’s head.

"Ah, hello Mr. Carlton, who’s the little lady you’ve got here?" joked the barber.

"Hello, John. This is Tim. He’s a potential hire for the firm, but he’s missing the professional appearance we so value," Mr. Carlton responded

"He barely appears at all under all that god-awful hair. How I miss the days when men looked like real, masculine men. The discipline in these younger folks is just not what it used to be," John responded. The caped customer nodded in agreement.

"I so agree, John," Mr. Carlton responded, continuing, "I was hoping you’d be able to whip him into shape."

"Oh certainly, Ted," said the barber, uncapping the customer and accepting his payment. "In fact, I’ll take you first in the chair," he continued, patting the back of the chair.

I stood still, unable to move in that moment. The barber, growing impatient, exclaimed "You, in the chair. NOW!"

I found myself walking almost subconsciously toward the chair and reluctantly sitting down. Before I knew it, a strip of white paper was wrapped around my neck and a cape thrown around me.

"What’ll it be?" questioned the barber.

Preparing to answer, hoping I could end up leaving without too much damage, I soon realized that the question was not for me, as Mr. Carlton began to answer.

"He’ll have my regular," he said, sitting down in the resting area and picking up a magazine.

The barber’s eyes practically lit up at the instruction, and soon grabbed a big pair of hair clippers from the counter. He removed the guard to expose only the blade and inched toward me.

Before I could even understand what was happening, the barber was plowing through the left side of my hair. All I could see was my brown hair cascading down the cape and settling in my lap. However, my do is shifted to the mirror, where I was horrified to see my sides were reduced to skin almost all the way to the top of my head. Before I knew it, he took the clippers to the back of my head, plowing up from the nape to the crown. Soon, all I was left with were skinned sides and disproportionately long hair on top.

The barber then set the clippers down and, taking a comb and a pair of scissors, started chopping at the hair on top, reducing the forelock that reached my eyes to only about an inch from the root. Soon, all the hair on top was reduced to this length.

Thinking that the damage was not too bad, I breathed a sigh of relief, only to learn the barber was not done. blow dried my hair to the point that it stood straight up and soon started attacking it with a flat comb and the clippers, reducing my length even further, until i could see the scalp through short pelt of hair that remained on top.

The barber then gathered some cream in his hand and lathered it all around the sides and back of my head and even on the top, which I had never seen before. He then peeled any residual stubble that remained, leaving me with what I know now to be a horseshoe flattop with the most severe landing strip i’ve ever seen.

"Is the cut to your liking, Mr. Carlton?" the barber questioned, swiveling the chair to face the man.

Mr. Carlton looked up and beamed. "Oh look, there is a man under there after all!" he remarked while walking over, clearly enjoying my new look.

He ran his fingers up the back of my now bare head. His fingers were cold, but I enjoyed the sensation, leaning into it slightly.

"You’ve outdone yourself, John. This is the type of man I need working for me and you managed to carve him out of all that hair and make him into a real man," Mr. Carlton remarked, walking back to hang up his blazer on the rack.

"That’s my job!" exclaimed the barber, freeing me from the cape. I got up and felt my legs shaking under me, the shock of my new look staring back at me in the mirror just now setting in. The barber turned away to prepare for Mr. Carlton’s haircut as I began to start toward the waiting area.

Mr. Carlton intercepted me on my way there. He stopped me and whispered in my ear, "The job is yours, hot stuff. We can head back to my office after my shearing and talk more, if you wouldn’t mind an ‘after hours’ meeting."

I felt a chill as I processed the words, feeling a chill inside me that made Mr. Carlton’s authoritative aura even more attractive than I’d thought him earlier.

"Of course, Sir, I’d like that," I managed to respond. Mr. Carlton responded with a sly smile and gave me a small slap on my behind.

"Perfect, now you go sit. My hair is already so short that my haircuts rarely exceed ten minutes. Then we can head back," Mr. Carlton said.

"Yes, sir," I responded, telling he was pleased at how I had addressed him.

He started toward the barber chair while I found a seat in the waiting area, excited to see his already short stubble fall victim to the barber’s clippers. Somehow, I knew that I would be visiting the barber far more often from now on.

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