A Visit To A Proper Barber: With AI by Snipped Sam / Shorn Lad

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A visit to a proper barber, was the first story I ever wrote for the haircut story site back in 2005. Working with Copilot on my laptop earlier today, I played around with the story added a few prompts and edits and here is the updated story.



A Visit to a Proper Barber
By Shorn Lad

I had never been in such an old-fashioned barber's shop. The chair, the barber, and the equipment all seemed very ancient, and I was fascinated. The boy in the chair was being given a proper short back and sides. Part of me wanted to stay and watch, but another part of me really wanted to get up and leave. After all, it had taken a while to get my hair to a seventies look.

There was a man in front of me also waiting. I decided that once he was installed in the chair, I would find an excuse and leave. Eventually, the boy, who looked about twelve, came off the chair, severely barbered. As he wiped his neck, the man stood up, but the barber looked at me.

"You're next, lad," he said jovially.

"But this gentleman is first, I think," I said quickly.

"No, lad. I'm not having my haircut. I've just brought Christopher," the man replied, revealing himself to be the boy’s grandad.

I hesitated, not knowing what to do. "Come along, lad," the barber said firmly. I had no choice but to take my place in the chair. "Sit right back, there's a good lad," and the navy blue nylon cape was soon around me. He tucked a tissue into the back of my collar, ensuring I was all tucked in and ready. The other two left as the barber was combing my hair.

"Looks like you're in for a proper haircut now," the grandad remarked with a chuckle.

"Bet he won't recognize himself after," the boy added, grinning.

I felt my cheeks redden, embarrassed by their comments. I just wanted this to be over.

The barber was an older gentleman, perhaps in his late fifties, with a kind yet authoritative presence. His hair was dark, slicked back with Brylcreem, and he wore black-framed spectacles that added to his distinguished look. He was short and stout, dressed in grey trousers and brown suede shoes, completing his outfit with a crisp white shirt, tie, and a navy blue nylon barber's jacket. His hands were steady and experienced, hinting at many years spent perfecting his craft.

"I think for you, young man, a nice short back and sides is the order of the day," he said with a confident smile.

I didn't know what to say. As he picked up the scissors, I just nodded.

Soon, he was snipping away, loud snips and lots of hair falling away. He worked his way around my head, each snip removing more of the hair that covered my ears and fell over my collar. "Ah, there's those ears! Haven't seen them in a while, have we?" he joked. The hair fell to the ground, and I could feel the cool air against my skin.

After brushing me down, he remarked, "Well, my lad, you are looking much more neat and tidy now, eh?"

I nodded. "Yes, sir, a lot better," I replied, though inside I felt a mix of dread and resignation.

"Right, lad, you need to bend your head right down for me. It's time for the most important part of your haircut."

I bent my head down for him. "Lower... lower... further down... there, that's it. I need you to stay perfectly still, do not move a muscle," he commanded in a strict tone.

He then picked up a pair of antiquated thinning scissors and began to work them through my hair. The sensation was uncomfortable as he tugged and pulled, the scissors making a distinct crunching sound with each cut. My scalp felt strangely exposed with each pass, adding to my growing sense of vulnerability. As I sat there with my head bent, my mind wandered back to the boy who had been in the chair before me. I recalled the sound of the clippers buzzing as they sheared off his hair, the way the barber's hand guided the younger boy's head with such confidence. The boy had sat still, almost resigned to his fate, as large clumps of his hair fell to the floor. I imagined the same fate for myself, feeling a mix of curiosity, apprehension, and dread. I had known that if I didn't do anything about it, it could be my turn next. What I hadn't realized was that the man wasn't getting his haircut at all. I had completely miscalculated the situation and now I was about to be clipped.

Now here I was, trapped in the chair, feeling the same cold metal blades against my own scalp. The sensation was startling, making me feel vulnerable and exposed. My heart pounded in my chest, and I felt a lump form in my throat as the reality of the situation sank in. There was no escaping it now. The barber's jovial comments and firm grip only added to my sense of helplessness.

The clippers buzzed loudly, and I felt the cold metal blades biting into my hair. "Looks like we'll be finding your neck today," he quipped as he worked his way up my head, the hair falling in clumps.

Up and up he went, the clippers mowing through my hair with precision. He tilted my head and did above my ears. "Ah, there's those ears! Nice and tidy now," he joked.

Then came a vigorous brush down. He stood back and surveyed his work. "A touch more off the back, I think," he said, and he took a different pair of clippers and clipped at the back again with even more determination.

"Don't worry, lad. This will keep you cooler in the summer," he said with a wink.

Once he had finished, he gave me a good brush down. He then took a straight razor and meticulously shaved my neck and the area above my ears. The cold metal against my skin sent shivers down my spine. "There we go, smooth as a baby's bottom," he chuckled.

He combed my hair precisely into place and then applied a generous amount of Brylcreem. The distinct, slightly medicinal scent filled the air, reminding me of traditional barber shops. He worked it through my hair until it was slick and shiny, each stroke of the comb pulling the hair perfectly into place. The slickness of the Brylcreem made my hair glisten under the barber's shop lights, and the barber took a moment to admire his work, ensuring every strand was perfectly aligned.

"Now that's a proper haircut," he said, satisfied.

Finally, he powdered my neck, and then, to my surprise, he powdered down the back of my shirt as well, ensuring I felt clean and fresh. He then held up a hand mirror to show me the back of my head in the larger mirror in front of me.

"Take a look at the back, lad," he said proudly.

I saw a neatly clipped and very short back and sides, my neck now exposed and clean-shaven. The transformation was startling.

"Wow," I muttered, barely recognizing myself.

"Christopher's grandad said that you were in for a proper haircut, and he was right," he smugly remarked.

When I came off the chair, the barber handed me a tissue. "Here you go, lad. Wipe the back of your neck," he said as he began to sweep up my hair.

I took the tissue and wiped the back of my neck; it felt so bare. As I ran my hand up, it felt rough and bristly.

"You will soon get used to it, lad. At least you now have a smart haircut," the barber said, nodding approvingly.

"Yes, sir, and a very short one too," I replied meekly.

I paid for my haircut and emerged from his shop feeling very self-conscious and very much barbered. There was no mistaking that I had just come from the barber’s.

The End

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