The Boss said SHAVE - II by Baldbearded

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Jonathan returned to work the next morning, feeling strange, like he was entering as a different person. His face felt bare, exposed to the cool office air, a new vulnerability he couldn’t shake. He caught people staring the moment he stepped in. Friends and coworkers who were used to his auburn beard did double-takes, their reactions ranging from surprise to shock. A few asked outright what had happened, voices tinged with confusion.

"Did you… did you mean to shave it all off?" one coworker asked, trying to mask the disbelief in her voice.

Jonathan forced a smile. "Yeah, it’s… what the boss wanted," he replied, as if repeating it aloud might make it feel more legitimate. He’d made a sacrifice to comply with company standards, to be the team player, right? But as he moved through the day, he couldn’t shake the feeling of being out of place, the empty, nagging sensation that his sacrifice hadn’t been worth it.

When lunchtime rolled around, Jonathan overheard two coworkers in the break room, their voices low but audible. "Did you see Jonathan?" one whispered, trying not to laugh. "He looks like a completely different person!"

"Yeah, but why did he shave it all? I mean, no one else has to."

The truth hit him, settling like a stone in his stomach. As he walked through the office, it became clear that none of his male coworkers had been asked to shave or make any drastic changes to their appearance. Men with beards, stubble, and every variation in between went about their day without a second thought, untouched by any demands to look "more professional." Jonathan realized, in painful clarity, that he was the only one who’d gone through with it. The more he thought about it, the more humiliating it felt, as if he’d been singled out for a joke he didn’t know he was part of.

At noon, Jonathan decided to step out for lunch, hoping that some fresh air might help ease the strange, restless feeling that had followed him all morning. The diner down the street was one of his favorite spots, a place he’d been visiting for years. The staff there had grown familiar with his towering presence and his unmistakable auburn beard, which used to flow over his chest like a fiery river. Walking in without it felt like entering as someone else entirely.

As he opened the door, a small bell chimed overhead, and the warm, familiar aroma of coffee and grilled sandwiches greeted him. A few heads turned as he entered, some faces scrunching up in confusion. Linda, the waitress who’d known him for years, paused mid-conversation with another customer, her eyes widening as she looked him over.

"Jonathan? Is that you?" she asked, her hand flying to her mouth in shock.

He gave a sheepish nod, forcing a smile as he slid into his usual booth. "Yeah, it’s me," he mumbled, trying to keep his voice light, though he could already feel the creeping embarrassment rise in his chest.

"Oh my… what happened to your beard?" she asked, her voice still laced with shock and a tinge of sadness. "You had the most beautiful beard in town! People used to talk about it—how thick and vibrant it was."

Jonathan shifted in his seat, looking down at the menu as if he didn’t already know it by heart. "Work stuff," he replied. "Boss wanted a cleaner look." He tried to sound nonchalant, but the words felt hollow, almost bitter.

Linda shook her head, clearly not understanding. "Well, it’s a shame. That beard suited you. You looked like a proper mountain man—strong, you know? This… I mean, not that you don’t look nice, but it’s different."

Jonathan forced a polite laugh, feeling his cheeks warm. He couldn’t count how many times he’d run his fingers through that beard, how it had become part of who he was, a quiet confidence in the way it framed his face. Now he felt laid bare, exposed in a way that left him unnervingly self-conscious.

A few booths down, he heard two older gentlemen whispering to each other. One of them nodded in Jonathan’s direction, eyebrows raised in recognition. "That’s him, the guy with the long auburn beard, remember?" the man murmured. "Can’t believe he shaved it! It was the nicest beard I’ve seen around here."

"Yeah, shame he got rid of it. Made him look like a real man," the other one replied, shaking his head in disappointment.

Jonathan’s hands tightened around his coffee cup. Each comment felt like a reminder of what he’d lost. He hadn’t just lost hair; he’d lost the part of him that people noticed, respected, even admired. He realized how much his beard had been a marker, something that distinguished him in a crowd. Now he felt… ordinary. Unremarkable. The familiarity, the sense of pride that came with that beard, was gone.

When Linda returned with his sandwich, she placed a hand on his shoulder. "I’m sure you had a good reason," she said, though her sympathetic tone made it clear she couldn’t quite understand why he’d go through with it.

"Yeah," he said quietly, staring at his plate, his appetite dwindling. "I thought I did."

He ate his lunch quickly, uncomfortable under the watchful eyes of other patrons who had noticed him, the once-bearded regular transformed into a version of himself they didn’t recognize. The whispers and glances weighed on him, deepening the ache that had started in the office and followed him here. By the time he paid the bill, he felt as though he’d lost much more than just his beard—he’d lost the easy acceptance he’d once felt in places like this, a sense of belonging that had felt solid and grounded.

When he got back to the office, things hadn’t improved. His coworkers continued to glance at him with surprise and confusion, some offering sympathetic smiles, others casting awkward looks as if he’d shown up in a Halloween costume. He felt like a stranger among people he’d known for years. Each passing comment added to the sting, a reminder of what he’d sacrificed.

The final blow came at the end of the day, when his boss spotted him near the elevators. The boss’s eyes lit up with amused recognition. "Jonathan! Wow, you actually did it!" His tone was half-mocking, barely containing laughter. "Didn’t think you’d take it seriously when I said to shave it all off. That was more of a… you know, friendly suggestion."

The words hit him hard, cold and unforgiving. Jonathan stood frozen, struggling to process the careless cruelty of it all. His mind replayed every cut, every stroke of the razor in the barber’s chair, the pain of shaving off what he’d come to cherish. His boss had seen it as a joke—a passing remark. He hadn’t meant it, not really. Jonathan had sacrificed a part of himself, a piece of his own identity, all for a throwaway comment that his boss hadn’t even expected him to follow through on.

"Right. A joke," Jonathan replied, his voice thin and strained. He felt the weight of regret pressing down on him, sharp and unrelenting.

The boss chuckled, clapping him on the shoulder before walking off, leaving Jonathan standing alone, humiliation burning through him. He left the office in a daze, feeling stripped of more than just his beard. He thought of his friends and family, the shock on their faces when they’d seen him bare-faced. And now the comments from people in the diner. He’d lost so much more than just hair—he’d lost a piece of his spirit, his pride.

As Jonathan sat in his car, that small spark of anger began to build into something clearer, something close to determination. His boss’s smug, mocking face filled his mind, and Jonathan couldn’t help but recall the irony of it all. The man who’d forced him to strip away part of who Jonathan was—the very symbol of his own authenticity and pride—was someone who wore his own mask every day, a carefully styled toupee that he tried to pass off as real hair.

It was a small detail, but one that had always seemed harmlessly amusing to Jonathan before. He’d kept it to himself, never saying a word, but now… now it felt different. It was as if that little piece of irony had come back to haunt his boss, a reminder that perhaps he wasn’t as untouchable as he liked to pretend.

Jonathan grinned to himself, a plan forming. He wouldn’t expose the toupee directly—that would be too easy. But he could gather information, keep close tabs on his boss’s shortcuts, his cover-ups, and every less-than-professional decision he made. In time, Jonathan would have everything he needed to ensure his boss would face his own moment of exposure. And when that moment came, Jonathan would be there to watch.

As he started the engine, Jonathan felt his resolve solidify. He’d grow back his beard, stronger and prouder than ever, while his boss’s mask would one day slip for good. Revenge was coming, and it would be served with a smile.

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