Captain Reluctance by Herr Cutt

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It was a crisp morning in the early '80s, and the quaint town I was visiting seemed to be frozen in time. The buildings, with their weathered facades and charming storefronts, whispered tales of a bygone era. My job at the carpet shop allowed me a day off once a week, and I eagerly boarded the bus to a town renowned for Arnold’s Comics and Cuts, a shop recommended for vintage comics—a passion of mine.

As I ambled down the cobblestone path, I caught sight of a unique sign swinging gently in the breeze. It read "Arnold's Comics & Cuts" in bold, retro lettering. Pushing open the door, I was greeted by the jingle of a small bell. Posters of superheroes adorned the walls, and rows of shelves sagged under the weight of countless comic books. The static red and white pole outside the shop now clearly indicated that it might also be a gents’ hairdresser.

As I took in the scene, I noticed a man standing behind the counter, meticulously organizing a stack of comics. He wore an impeccably white shirt and tie beneath his blue nylon jacket, looking like he meant business. His white, perfectly groomed hair was cut super short, adding to his authoritative air.

"How can I help you, young man?" he asked, his voice sharp and commanding.

"I’d like to have a look through your comics, if that's alright," I replied, trying to sound casual.

He nodded, his eyes narrowing a bit. "As long as you're careful with them. Quite the collection we've got here. I’ve been running this place for the last twenty years."

"I promise I’ll be careful and thanks for letting me look. They’re pretty cool," I responded, trying to keep things light.

As I started to relax, I noticed a comic strip pinned to the wall beside the mirror. It featured a character named "Captain Reluctance," a superhero who fought villains with incredible strength but was hilariously hesitant about getting a haircut. Arnold noticed my gaze and chuckled.

"Ah, that’s Captain Reluctance. He was hand-drawn by a friend of mine to help relax nervous junior customers before they are shorn. Always a hit."

"I hadn’t realized you cut hair as well," I said.

"Maybe you need putting at ease too, before you're shorn?" he joked, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

"Captain Reluctance is funny," I replied, trying to change the subject and more than a bit taken aback by his directness, and then carried on looking at the comics.

After browsing for a bit, I finally decided on two comics and brought them to the counter to pay. Arnold rang up my purchase and handed me a small bag with the comics inside.

Suddenly, Arnold moved out from behind the counter and walked over to a curtained area at the back of the shop. With a flourish, he pulled back the curtain to reveal a cubicle with a barber's chair inside. His gestures were firm, leaving no room for doubt.

"I can now cut your hair," he announced.

I took a step back, feeling a sudden surge of resistance. "I don’t know... I was really just passing through. Maybe I can come back another time?"

"Nonsense," he replied, his tone unwavering. "A good haircut is always worth the time. Sit yourself in the chair."

"I’m really not sure. I’m kind of in a hurry," I protested, trying to find an excuse.

He crossed his arms, looking at me with a mix of amusement and impatience. "Young man, you’ve got the time to browse comics, but not enough for a quick trim? Trust me, it won’t take long."

"I just... I didn’t plan on getting a haircut today," I stammered, feeling cornered.

He took a step closer, his expression softening slightly but his tone still firm. "Listen, a good haircut can make you feel like a new man. You’ll thank me later."

I hesitated, my heart racing. There was something about his confident demeanor that made it hard to say no.

"Alright, fine," I sighed, giving in. "Let’s do this."

"That's the spirit," he said with a satisfied nod. "Now, sit straight and make sure your feet are on the footrest," he instructed, his voice leaving no room for argument.

His hand was firm on my shoulder as he directed me to the chair. "Feet on the footrest, back right against the chair," he reiterated.

I did as I was told, feeling a mix of nerves and anticipation. Arnold reached for a strip of tissue paper, tucking it carefully into the back of my collar. His hand rested on my neck, the touch both reassuring and firm.

With a swift motion, he draped the burgundy coloured nylon cape around me, tucking it in snugly. He then pumped the chair up to the required height and combed through my hair, his movements decisive.

"Not so bad once you’re in the chair, is it, young man?" he asked as he started cutting the hair at the back of my head.

"No, but I’m surprised how quickly it happened. One minute we were chatting, and the next I’m getting my hair cut," I replied, feeling a bit trapped.

"Best way, young man. Get you in the chair without you overthinking it," he said, his tone brooking no argument.

Arnold's skilled hands continued to work with precision, the sound of the scissors snipping away at my hair resonating through the small space, and the sound of my hair as it fell on the cape . His authoritative presence was palpable, and I found myself slipping further into a state of subservience.

"So, young man," Arnold began, his voice cutting through the rhythmic snips of the scissors. "How old are you?"

"I'm sixteen," I replied, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Sixteen," he repeated, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "And what do you do for work?"

"I work in a carpet shop," I answered, feeling the weight of his scrutiny.

"A carpet shop, eh? Good, honest work," he commented, his tone both approving and firm. "Now, let's get you looking sharp for the job."

Arnold's focus intensified as he tilted my head forward, exposing the back of my neck. He reached for a pair of thinning shears, their blades glinting under the overhead light. With meticulous care, he began to work through my hair, the shears slicing through the thick strands with a rhythmic precision. Each snip felt deliberate, and I could sense the experience behind his movements.

"This will ensure your hair lies flat and looks even," Arnold explained, his tone matter-of-fact. "A proper haircut requires attention to every detail."

"Yes, sir," I replied, feeling the weight of his authority.

I sat still, feeling the thinning shears glide through my hair, removing the bulk and leaving a smooth finish. Arnold's concentration was unwavering, his hands moving with the confidence of someone who had perfected his craft over the years.

Once satisfied with the thinning, Arnold set the shears aside and turned his attention to the selection of electric clippers. He took his time, meticulously inspecting each pair, running his fingers over the blades and testing their weight in his hand. The clippers hummed softly as he powered them on and off, ensuring he chose the perfect tool for the job.

Finally, Arnold settled on a pair, their sleek design promising precision. He switched them on, the buzzing sound filling the room. Before beginning, he placed a firm hand on my head, guiding it into the perfect position.

"And down we go boy," Arnold said, his voice steady and authoritative.

"This is a traditional short back and sides," Arnold explained, his voice unwavering. "Very popular in the '50s, and it'll suit you just fine."

"Thanks, sir," I replied quietly, feeling a mix of nerves and anticipation.

I felt the cool metal of the clippers glide up the back of my head, the hair falling away in neat clumps. Arnold's movements were meticulous, each pass of the clippers precise and controlled. The strictness of the haircut became evident as he worked his way up, leaving no room for error.

"Sit still and keep your head steady," he instructed, his tone leaving no room for disobedience.

"Yes, sir," I responded, complying without hesitation. Arnold's firm hands ensured my head was perfectly positioned for him to continue. His authoritative demeanor demanded obedience, and I found myself complying without hesitation. The clippers moved with a rhythmic precision, reducing my once mid-brown 1980s hairstyle to a severe, crisp short back and sides.

Once he finished clipping, Arnold wet my neck and the area near my ears with a piece of cotton wool he had dampened under the tap. Carefully, he then took a flat razor and shaved my neck and near my ears with the razor, ensuring every detail was perfect.

Arnold was in the middle of the shave when the door jingled again and a man walked in, holding a stack of comic books.

"Morning, Arnold. I've got some duplicates here, thought you might be interested," the man said, his voice carrying through the shop.

Arnold glanced up briefly, his razor still poised. "Morning, Tom. Hang tight, just finishing up here," he replied, his tone steady.

The man, Tom, nodded and took a seat, carefully placing the stack of comics on a nearby chair. "No rush, Arnold. I don't want to interrupt important work," he said, casting a glance my way.

Arnold resumed his task, his hands steady and precise. He finished the shave with a few final strokes, then wiped the area clean with a tissue. His attention to detail was unwavering.

"There we go," Arnold said, stepping back to admire his work. "Now you stay still and don't touch anything. I'll be right back," he said, his tone leaving no room for disobedience.

"Yes, sir," I replied, feeling the weight of his authority.

Arnold turned his attention to Tom. "Alright, let's see what you've got," he said, setting the razor aside and walking over to the stack of comics.

Tom handed the comics to Arnold, who began flipping through them with a discerning eye. "Not bad, not bad at all, I can definitely shift these." Arnold said, nodding appreciatively.

While they chatted, I sat in the chair, feeling both an outsider and an integral part of the scene. The shop's atmosphere, the casual conversation, and the meticulous care of the haircut all blended together into a unique experience.

Arnold glanced back at me, a stern look on his face. "Sit up straight and don't fidget," he commanded, his tone leaving no room for disobedience.

"Yes, sir," I replied, quickly straightening my posture.

After temporarily finishing with Tom, Arnold returned to his post, his presence even more commanding. He reached for the jar of Brylcreem, scooping a small amount into his hands and rubbing them together before applying the product to my hair. His fingers worked methodically, ensuring every strand was perfectly in place. The distinct scent of the Brylcreem filled the air, adding to the nostalgic atmosphere of the shop.

"Now, for the final finishing touch," Arnold declared.

He reached for the traditional powder blower, already filled with talcum powder. With a few firm squeezes, he created clouds of powder that enveloped my neck and collar, the cool, soothing sensation settling over my skin. Arnold worked the powder down the back of my collar with meticulous care, ensuring every detail was perfect.

"There we go," Arnold said, stepping back to admire his handiwork. He picked up a hand mirror and positioned it behind my head, allowing me to see the back and sides of my freshly cut hair. "Short enough for you boy?" he asked, his tone both proud and commanding.

"Yes, sir. Thank you," I mumbled, still processing the dramatic change.

Arnold's demeanor shifted slightly as he addressed me again. "Good. Now, stand up and straighten your collar. We're done here," he said, his voice still carrying that authoritative edge.

I stepped out of the chair, quickly straightening my collar as instructed, and made my way to the counter to pay. As I did, Tom glanced at me and noticed me feeling the freshly clipped back of my head.

"Nice haircut, lad," Tom said with a grin. "Arnold's got a real knack for this, doesn't he?"

"Yeah, he does," I replied, still getting used to the feel of my new haircut. "It's a lot shorter than I'm used to, but I think I like it."

Arnold joined us at the counter, his presence commanding. "Stand up straight, and hold your head high young man," he instructed firmly as I approached.

"Yes, sir," I responded, quickly straightening my posture.

Arnold's tone softened slightly as he addressed Tom. "A good haircut can make all the difference, don't you think?" he remarked, nodding approvingly at his handiwork.

"Absolutely," Tom agreed. "He's got that clean, sharp look now."

I paid for the haircut, and as I handed over the money, I couldn't help but feel a newfound sense of confidence. The experience had been unexpectedly transformative, and I knew that this visit to Arnold's Comics & Cuts was one I wouldn't soon forget.

"Thanks again, sir," I said as I collected my change.

"You're welcome, young man. Remember, a good haircut can make all the difference. Now, go out there and make the most of it," Arnold replied, his tone softer now but still commanding.

As I left Arnold's Comics & Cuts, the crisp morning air felt different against my freshly shorn neck. The experience had been unexpectedly transformative, and I couldn't help but feel a newfound sense of confidence and purpose.

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