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Why Did He Cut My Hair Like That? by A Recruit

A couple of years ago, I went to the Barbers (as I reluctantly did from time to time) just to have my hair tidied up a bit.

Even though my school had strict rules that dictated uniformly short hair, I had grown mine a bit and kept it a bit longer. On this occasion, I had a mate from school with me, although he wasn't getting his hair cut that day.

We got to the shop. I tied the top button of my shirt because I didn't want bits of hair getting down my neck. We went in and sat in the waiting area. A couple of school kids followed in after us with who appeared to be their Dad. After a few minutes, a chap in about his early thirties came towards us, he had a white hairdressing cape with thin blue stripes over his left arm.

"Who's next?" he asked.

I got up, we smiled and exchanged greetings and I went and sat in the chair.

No sooner had he fastened the cape around my neck than a colleague of his came up and whispered something in his ear. He asked me if I minded waiting there a short while. I said I didn't, and he went off, leaving me there, still caped up. About ten minutes later, he returned. Before I knew what was happening, he had picked up the scissors and positioned my head forwards, so my chin was resting on my chest. I felt a loud snip across the back of my neck, then another, and another.

I realized then that it was too late to say anything, and, feeling rather nervous, let him get on with it. Next came the buzzing of the clippers By now, he had started to chat away to me, but did not ask me the obvious question, how did I want my haircut?

Chunks of my dark brown hair were falling down on to my white cape in front of me. Finally, as he repositioned my head and I felt the clippers go around my ears, I could see in the mirror, and could see the look of horror on my mates face. Eventually, he ran the clippers over the top of my head, and I could see how short it really was becoming. By now the chunks of hair dropping on to my cape had become a fine spray.

Eventually the buzzing of the clippers ceased. I felt a razor being used to clean up my neck, and he finally produced a mirror, and proudly presenting the back of my neck, smiled, and asked "How does that feel?"

It looked very short, but there was nothing I could do but nod my approval. He got the brush and cleaned a few flakes of hair off my face. As he finally removed the cape, I once again stared at myself in the mirror in front of me and realised the full extent of the treatment he had just given me. It was a grade 3 taken down to a grade 1 around the ears and back.

I was surprised however to find that I really liked it, but wondered, and still wondered why he cut it like that without asking me what I wanted. Still, I'm glad he did. I would never have had the nerve to ask for that myself. Maybe he knew something I didn't! I even had bits of hair down my neck and it itched, but it didn't really bother me.

As I came in to the view of the two school kids who came in behind us, they looked very worried. Outside the shop, I could feel the breeze on my head. It was really nice.

I kept feeling my neck and my head, really pleased with my new haircut. One of my mates decided he liked it and wanted the same. We returned, and he had his hair cut the same way. After that, several other mates followed suit, and I even saw those two school kids walking around with their hair cut like me! I seem to have started something. Now a group of us go there and have our hair cut every three or four weeks. And we all know why the barber cuts hair the way he does. Because it's the right way!

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