Mistaken Uniform by CleanCutTieGuy

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Foreword: This story might seem a bit idyllic. I did not think I would ever write a story with a teenage character. My haircut experiences in childhood and teens were traumatic and awful, which makes writing from that perspective not particularly appealing to me. Let me know what you think in the comments. Thanks for reading.


Mistaken uniform

As a 15 year old kid in the mid 80s, I had just moved to a new town and my parents enrolled me in a private Catholic high school. We weren’t religious, but it was a much better school than the public one where we had just moved. I was an awkward, shy kid with messy hair that brushed against my ears and spilled over my shirt collar.

One day, my mother had given me some money for a haircut, and told me I could just go to the barbershop in town on my way home from school. Being new to the area, I hadn't been to this barbershop before. After the bus dropped me off, I made the short walk to the barbershop. I was still wearing the school uniform, which for boys was a sweater, white dress shirt, gray dress pants and tie. Coming from a public school, I was not used to wearing a school uniform, but since everyone was wearing one too, it was not a big deal.

Upon entering the barbershop, I could see that it was an old-school shop. The waiting area chairs had the old cracked red vinyl. There was a distinct smell of aftershave in the shop.

Feeling a little warm in the barbershop, I took off my sweater and put it in my backpack.

When it was my turn, the barber said, "Just starting school?"

"Yes, I just moved into town and I'm a transfer student."

Looking at my hair, he chuckled slightly. "I figured. We'll get you looking sharp."

He put the cape on, and combed out my hair. Without asking how I wanted it cut, he simply picked up the clippers and started. Being a shy kid at a new barber, I didn't say a word. He cut very quickly. I grew a bit nervous as he started on the sides, and chunks of my hair tumbled onto the cape. I couldn't see what he was doing, but I assumed it would be a regular tapered haircut, like the ones I was used to. That would be okay; plenty of other kids my age had that style.

He quickly swapped clipper blades and then vigorously cut more hair from the back and sides. When he was done, he sprayed down the hair on the top of my head with water. Using a comb and shears, he picked up sections of my remaining hair and snipped them off. I could see long lengths of my hair falling onto the cape in front of me. This continued, and I resigned myself to ending up with a regular short back and sides.

At one point he said, "I think you will enjoy Academy. It is a good school."

Academy was another private school in town. It was a military school.

"I’m enrolled in St. Anthony’s, not Academy."

He stopped cutting and looked horrified.

"When you came in, I thought your uniform was the one from Academy. They have strict haircut standards. Some of the students come in to get their hair cut from there, and it is always the same cut. Since you said you were a transfer student, I assume you had just started."

My look of shock and horror hit him hard. This barber was not one of those mean barbers that hates children and just wants to scalp them. I had been to those barbers when I was much younger. He looked visibly upset and proceeded to spend the next few minutes apologizing while trying to figure out how he was confused by the school uniform.

He then said, "I am sorry, but I have to finish the haircut."

"Okay, I guess. I don’t even know anyone who goes to Academy. Plenty of kids at St. Anthony’s have short hair anyway."

He finished the haircut, and apologized a few more times. I started to feel bad; I wasn't used to an adult apologizing that much to me.

When he turned the chair to face the mirror and showed me the extent of the cut, I understood why he felt bad. Most of my hair was either on the cape or the floor.

The barber explained, "This is basically an Academy standard haircut. The back and sides were cut down to 1.5mm. I cut the top with a side part and just enough to comb to the side."

"Ok, that is short, but it doesn’t look that bad." I actually didn't think it looked bad at all.

"Actually, it makes you look so much better. The longer hair made you look more like a younger kid, especially with the school uniform. This haircut added a few years to you. If anyone asks you about the haircut, you will at least have an interesting story as to how it happened."

When he finished, he brushed away all the loose hairs and removed the cape. When I went to pay, he absolutely refused to take my money. He even offered my next haircut for free, though he probably didn't expect to see me back soon.

I took my school sweater out of my backpack to put on for my walk home. The barber looked and told me the haircut suited me, and to expect plenty of compliments.

Before I left, he asked, "You are new in town. Do you think you will be looking for a part-time job after school and on some weekends?"

"Yes. I haven’t looked yet, but I’m saving up for a car after I get my license next year."

"If you are not in a hurry to get home, do you mind waiting for me to make a quick phone call? I might be able to help you out."

"Sure. I have plenty of time."

He picked up the phone, and asked for someone named Mateo. They had a brief conversation I could not hear, and then he hung up.

"What do you think about a part-time job at the hardware store?"

Looking hopeful, I said, "Sure, I mean yes, but I have applied yet."

He gave me directions for the location of the store, which was only a three-minute walk from his shop.

"Ok, when you get there, ask to see Mateo, and tell him "Tom sent you." By the way, I am Tom. Make sure you keep your school sweater on and straighten your tie. Matteo is an old-school Italian Catholic. Tell him you are new in town and are looking for a job after school. He will know from your uniform that you go to St. Anthony’s. He’s old-fashioned so the new haircut will go over well with him."

"Ok. Thank you Mr…?"

"Call me Tom."

"Ok, I am Kevin. Thank you."

I shook Tom’s hand, and headed off to the hardware store.

Thirty minutes later, I came back to Tom’s shop saying, "He gave me a job. I start on Saturday."

"Congratulations. Just remember, a neat appearance and a sharp haircut can get you places."

I headed home, and my parents were a bit surprised at my haircut. I explained to them what happened and how Tom helped me get a job. They liked the haircut and were pleased that I took the initiative to get a part-time job. My father announced that his next haircut would definitely be at Tom’s shop.

Two weeks later, my father came home from work with the same haircut. He said it was time to ditch his 1970s style and try something new.

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