Paintball Gear (Part 3 : The Promotion) by CleanCutTieGuy

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PartIII: The Promotion

Another six months had flown by, a whirlwind of increased responsibilities and longer hours since John's promotion. He’d meant to come in for a trim, truly, but time had a way of slipping through his fingers. Now, his hair had once again returned to its familiar, slightly shaggy state, a stark contrast to his usual work attire. Stopping in after a late meeting, John pushed open the door to Mike's shop. He was dressed in his sharpest work outfit: a white dress shirt, tailored grey dress pants, a vibrant yellow tie, and a sharp navy blue blazer.

Mike looked up from tidying his station, a familiar chuckle escaping him. "Well, well, if it isn't Mr. Six-Months-Late! Where have you been, son? Thought you fell off the map!"

John smiled sheepishly. "Sorry, Mike! Things have been crazy. Got a promotion at work, so it's been non-stop."

"A promotion, you say? Excellent! Well, don't let success make you forget your barber," Mike quipped. "Alright, hang up that coat, loosen your tie, and hop in the chair."

John followed the instructions, shedding his blazer and loosening his tie as he settled into the worn leather. Mike draped the cape around him, giving his overgrown hair a thoughtful look.

"You know," Mike began, tapping his comb against his chin, "with that sharp new promotion, maybe it's time for a haircut promotion. How about we try a flattop today? You have the right hair and head shape for it."

John raised an eyebrow. "A flattop? I never had one of those before."

Mike pointed to a vintage poster of men’s haircuts on the wall. He pointed out the one that is a flattop.

"The flattop is that picture is longer and yours would be a bit shorter. It’s a sharp style. It lets people know that you are in charge."

Trusting Mike's judgment after their last unexpected success, John nodded. "Alright, let's do it. Flattop it is."

Mike wasted no time. The familiar buzz of the clippers filled the air as he swiftly attacked the sides and back. Six months of growth disappeared in a matter of seconds, falling to the floor in dark clumps. John was no stranger to shorter hair at this point, so Mike took the liberty of sculpting a high, tight fade for the flattop, a common request from some of the local firefighters and police officers. From this crisp foundation, Mike began the precision work.

Then came the precision work. Mike used a combination of clippers and comb, sculpting the top of John's hair into a perfectly level, horizontal plane. He worked carefully, his eyes constantly checking the mirror, ensuring every strand stood rigidly upright, forming that distinctive flat surface. The top, cut to a precise, uniform length, formed a sharp, geometric shape that seemed to defy gravity.

Once the cutting was done, Mike reached for a small jar. "Now, for a cut like this," he explained, scooping out a bit of waxy product, "you'll want to use something like this. Just a tiny bit, warm it up in your hands, and then work it through the top from the roots up. It helps those hairs stand straight and keeps that perfect flat shape. You can use a fine-tooth comb to really get that crisp edge."

Mike spun the chair around. John stared. The flattop was even more dramatic than the high and tight. It was undeniably bold, commanding, and incredibly clean. His promotion suddenly felt even more real. He really liked the new look as he gently touched the hair standing straight up.

"Wow, Mike," John breathed, examining his new haircut in the mirror. "This is incredible. I love it." He pulled out his phone. "Can you... can you take a picture for me? I need this for posterity."

Mike chuckled, taking the phone. "Hold on there, champ. For a picture like this, you gotta look the part." He motioned with his free hand. "Button that top button on your shirt, fix your tie nice and neat, and throw that blazer back on. Now you'll look like the boss that you are."

John quickly re-buttoned his shirt, straightened his tie, and slipped on his navy blazer. Mike snapped a few photos, then handed the phone back. John scrolled through them, a wide grin spreading across his face. He looked sharp, confident, and ready to conquer any corporate challenge.

"These are great, Mike! Thank you so much," John said, genuinely grateful. "And I promise, I won't wait another six months to come back for a haircut. You'll be seeing a lot more of me."



Six weeks later, on a Saturday afternoon, John walked into Mike's shop. He was dressed to impress, in a sharp blue three-piece suit, the vest snug, the jacket tailored perfectly.

"Well, now, Mr. Big Shot," Mike chuckled, looking up from sharpening his clippers. "Working on a Saturday? Or did you finally decide to get married?"

John smiled. "Neither, Mike. Just on my way to pick up my parents at the airport."

Mike raised an eyebrow. "Your parents expect you to show up in a suit?"

"They probably expect me to show up in a sloppy T-shirt and jeans, to be honest," John admitted. "But I wanted to show them I'm successful. That I'm doing well."

"I like that. I like that a lot," Mike said, gesturing to the chair. "Alright, hop back in here. Let's get you squared away and looking presentable for the folks."

John settled into the chair. This time, Mike didn't need to ask about the cut. He picked up his comb, already knowing the mission. There was noticeably less hair to cut than the previous times, the flattop still largely intact, but Mike took his time, his movements deliberate and precise. He focused on maintaining that perfectly level plane on top, using the clippers with surgical accuracy to ensure every hair stood at attention. He meticulously trimmed the edges, ensuring the sharp, geometric lines of the flattop were absolutely crisp.

As Mike was cutting, John explained, "My dad was in the marines. He’s gonna be surprised when he sees me with this haircut. I never had short hair when I was growing up and he hated it."

"Marines, huh? He definitely won’t disapprove of this haircut for his son."

Mike nodded, his focus unwavering as he perfected the flattop. "Your thick, straight hair is perfect for this kind of cut. It was one of the reasons I suggested it. Not everyone has the right hair for this kind of haircut."

After a few more precise snips and a final brush-off, Mike spun the chair around. The flattop was immaculate, a testament to Mike's skill. John looked like a force to be reckoned with.

"There you go," Mike said, stepping back with a satisfied nod. "You look like a powerful young professional, John. Your parents should be incredibly proud."

At the airport, John stood waiting, scanning the faces in the arriving crowd. When his parents finally emerged, their eyes immediately found him, but there was a flicker of confusion before recognition.

"Johnny? Is that really you?" his mother exclaimed, rushing forward for a hug. "You look... so different!"

His father, a man of few words, simply stared. He took in John's suit, then his eyes traveled up to his head. He reached out a hand, touching the bristly hair on top of John's head. "Well, I'll be," he murmured, a rare smile tugging at his lips. "You cleaned up real good, kiddo. The haircut looks good on you. I remember having a flattop when I was younger, though mine was quite as short as yours. You don’t see guys with them much anymore."

"My barber suggested it after I got a promotion at work. He says it is more suitable haircut for my position."

John smiled and while his parents might not have recognized him at first, their approval was clear. And in that moment, he knew all the effort, the nicer clothes, and the bold haircuts, were entirely worth it.

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