Transformations - #2 - admin renewal by Manny

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This is part #2 of a multi-part story
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Mr. Kendall felt agitated all day. Jim’s revelation about applying for the new Headmaster position that would oversee both the High School and Elementary School principals rattled him. Thanks to his aunt’s historic bequest, Jim would catapult from lowly teacher to Headmaster. With short hair and business suit, he was already looking the part. Jim’s dramatic transformation had been rapid and astonishing.

And acting it too! Telling him he needed a haircut and also instructing the barber what length to cut it!

To be fair, Mr. Kendall had frequently suggested to Jim that he get a proper haircut…but he had never pulled rank or orchestrated a thorough shearing at Branson’s Barber Shop for the once-shaggy teacher.

Jim’s dramatic transformation had been rapid and astonishing.

Mr. Kendall took out the little vanity mirror which he hid in his desk and peeped at his pampered, plush executive coif. Oh, the wonderful chestnut color with fiery auburn highlights! And the way it was swept back in soft waves. Blow-drying his locks - just so, each morning - was his favorite part of the day…heavenly!

He felt his hair in back â€" comfortingly plush, mid-way down his dress color.

Then, Mr. Kendall got a queasy feeling in his tummy, thinking about Jim's transformation. His coif, he suspected, was on the chopping block.

Hopefully, there would be no short taper clipped up the back!

Mr. Kendall glanced at his watch as the last bell rang.

Haircut time! Ugh! Just get it over with quickly and hope for the best.

Mr. Kendall was a bucket of nerves as his hands clutched the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles turned white. He couldn’t help taking peeks at his lovely locks in the rearview mirror as he drove.

Then, that place of doom, Branson’s Barber Shop, came into view.

Mr. Kendall parked. He paused, before opening the door. Really, it was just speculation that Jim would get the Headmaster position. He didn’t have any credentials for the job, professional ones, that is. But, his control of the $10 million bequest from his Aunt Matilda was more than an ace of trumps.

Mr. Kendall concluded (quickly!) that he could not afford to alienate his soon-to-be supervisor with insubordination. The door of the car swung open and Mr. Kendall staggered, drunk-like almost, toward the shop.

"Mr. Kendall?" the barber asked as the door swung open. "I’ve been expecting you!"

He beamed and his voice sounded gleeful.

"Jim, uh, explained…" Mr. Kendall stammered.

"There’s the chair!" the barber said curtly, pointing to the throne-like seat.

He added, "And those are the clippers! I hear you want your hair cut very, very short! A new, brave look for you…."

Mr. Kendall forced himself to mount the steel footrest and ease into the upholstery.

"Yes, uh, Jim has let you know?" he asked, uncertain of whether there was any wiggle room.

The tissue strip encircled his neck, and then the barber pulled the cape snuggly into place, fastening it with a large metal clip.

"There! Now, we’re ready to say good-bye to this tired businesscut, Mr. Kendall," the barber commented, smoothing the shimmering chestnut-colored locks with his hands.

Mr. Kendall gulped nervously.

"You know how it’s to be cut, I assume," Mr. Kendall eked out.

"Yes, unless you have a different instruction from the one Jim gave me, although I guess you don’t," the barber replied.

"Just as he told you, then," Mr. Kendall conceded with a defeated tone.

The barber picked up the huge set of Oster’s that hung nearest to him and snapped them one.

With his other hand, he pushed Mr. Kendall’s head forward with a firm grip.

The first drive, tightly up the back of Mr. Kendall’s head, ensued in total silence, except for the hum of the machine.

At the end of the clipper drive, the barber flicked his hand, sending a massive wad of clipped hair off to the side. It landed on the floor, out of sight.

The barber held Mr. Kendall’s head down prostrate and took the clippers up the back for a second time.

"Nothing like taking a businesscut on a middle aged man and turning it into a flattop," the barber commented.

A flattop!!

Mr. Kendall jerked at the thought.

"Will it be your first?" the barber asked.

"Yes," Mr. Kendall murmured, resigned to his fate. His stomach churned beneath the billowing white cape.

"That makes administering the cut even more enjoyable. You’re not nervous, are you, Mr. Kendall?" the barber asked.

"A bit," Mr. Kendall said with a dry throaty voice.

"You have quite a nice head of hair for one your age. How old are you? 40? 45?" the barber asked.

"I am in my mid-50s," Mr. Kendall croaked.

"Wow, amazing," the barber said, urging Mr. Kendall to sit up straight. "And so much of it coming off...."

Then, with a comb, he snagged the copious forelock and buzzed it right off, near the hairline.

The whole prized lock fell into Mr. Kendall’s lap on the cape.

The caped principal jolted in astonishment.

"I love to do that," the barber remarked. "Once the forelock is off, there’s no going back. It’s a flattop or a butch cut now!"

Mr. Kendall looked at the shorn lock with a wistful, even intensely sad, look.

The clippers went tightly up the sides, stripping off the comforting padding of soft silken hair.

Mr. Kendall shifted nervously in the chair.

"Is anything going to be left," he sighed.

"Very little," the barber replied. "Jim said you wanted a military-length flattop. Wide landing strip and skinned sides and back. Is that so?"

Mr. Kendall’s leg began to shake restlessly.

"Yes, that’s so, but don't go overboard," he said quietly.

"I hear he’s going to be the new Headmaster at St. Ignatius," the barber noted, curiously. "Mighty young for such an important position, I’d say."

"And no experience at all in administration!" Mr. Kendall huffed self-righteously.

"It’s a wonder you didn’t apply," the barber remarked.

"Uh, I already have enough on my plate," Mr. Kendall seethed resentfully.

The rest of the haircut transpired in silence.

The barber spent more time taking the top down, millimeter by millimeter, then he had spent on the rest of the transformative haircut.

The first time the clippers grazed the top of Mr. Kendall’s head, he struggled to contain the shock of the vibration against his tender, virgin scalp.

"Steady, steady!" the barber hissed. "This is the most important part. Sit absolutely still or leave here bald! Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir! Sorry, sir," Mr. Kendall said meekly.

"Ah, finally! The new you! Are you ready to see your new flattop?" the barber asked.

Without waiting for an answer, he slowly swiveled the chair around.

As his reflection came into view, Mr. Kendall grimaced in horror. His beloved, plush executive coif was history!

"Oh!" he gasped. "It’s so short!"

The barber held up the mirror in back.

"Nothing much to see back here," the barber laughed awkwardly. "It’ll take a few days to get used to, I imagine. My guess is that you’ll grow it out a bit and then accept that the flattop is a better look for you and come back to have it tightened up again."

The cape came off, and Mr. Kendall staggered out of the chair, feeling his shorn head in disbelief. At his feet lay clumps of his hair…five-inch locks of shimmering chestnut with fiery auburn highlights.

"It’s so short," Mr. Kendall whimpered.

The barber gave him a playful thump on his ear.

"Get a grip, man! It’s just a haircut!" he chided. "Jim warmed me you would whine plenty."

As Mr. Kendall paid, the barber said, "I hear Jim has plans for St. Ignatius. A strict grooming code for the boys…. My barber shop will be hopping before the next term starts, he promised."

"Oh?" Mr. Kendall said. "How strict?"

"I’ll be ankle deep in cut hair after the lads have all been marched through here, he predicted," the barber said with mirthful anticipation.

Mr. Kendall smiled. At least he would not stick out like a sore thump with his new extremely short flattop.

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