The Unexpected Cut by Mark L

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Seventeen-year-old Tyler had been thinking about this haircut for days. The plan was simple: just a trim. A slight fade on the sides, a little off the top, keeping his hair long enough to run his fingers through. He’d seen the style on Instagram, loved how it looked, and figured it was time to freshen things up. So, on a Saturday afternoon, he walked into Jake’s Barbershop, feeling a mix of excitement and nerves.

It wasn’t his first time at the shop, but Tyler had never gone to Jake. The place was buzzing with chatter and the hum of clippers, and there was an old-school charm to it—leather chairs, vintage posters on the walls, and the scent of aftershave hanging in the air. The other barbers were busy with customers, but Jake, a grizzled man in his mid-40s with a scowl always etched into his face, gave Tyler a quick, indifferent glance before gesturing for him to sit.

Tyler settled into the worn-out chair, his palms a little sweaty as he tried to explain what he wanted.

"I just want a trim. A fade on the sides, but keep the top long. Not too short, though," he said, trying to keep his voice steady.

Jake didn’t respond right away. He just stared at Tyler through the mirror with that unnerving gaze. After a long pause, he grunted.

"Yeah, yeah, I got it."

Tyler hesitated, but the sound of clippers buzzing in the background reassured him. Jake was a professional, right?

But as the barber started working, Tyler noticed something strange. The clippers on the sides of his head were buzzing more aggressively than they should have been. He could feel his hair getting shorter than he’d asked for, but he didn’t want to interrupt. Maybe Jake knew better, right?

Then the moment Tyler had been dreading arrived. Jake ran the clippers over the top of his head, and Tyler winced. There was no soft trim, no careful cutting—just a harsh buzzing that seemed to take away more and more of his hair.

Tyler shifted uncomfortably in the chair, trying to get Jake’s attention. "Uh, I wanted to keep the top longer, though."

Jake didn’t even look at him. He just continued his work, as though Tyler wasn’t speaking.

"I said longer," Tyler repeated, his voice a little firmer now. "Not this short. Just the sides."

Jake let out a deep sigh and slammed the clippers down on the counter. He turned to face Tyler, his expression now a mix of annoyance and judgment.

"You’re not getting a haircut like that, kid," Jake said, his voice low and cold. "That’s what you should be getting. You’ll thank me later."

Tyler was speechless. He wanted to say something, to stand up and walk out of the chair, but he was frozen. What was he supposed to do? This was his only day off, and he didn’t want to make a scene.

Jake didn’t wait for a response. He continued buzzing away, taking what was left of Tyler’s hair with ruthless precision. The hum of the clippers filled the room, drowning out the other conversations. Tyler could feel his scalp growing colder with every pass of the clippers, and soon, all that was left was a buzz cut so short it almost looked like a military-style fade.

When Jake finally stepped back, he looked down at Tyler with a mix of satisfaction and smugness. "There. You look better. Don’t worry, it’ll grow back."

Tyler stared at his reflection in the mirror. He barely recognized himself. His hair, once shaggy and wild, was now reduced to a patchy, uneven buzz. The top was barely more than stubble, and the sides were nearly shaved clean.

"I didn’t ask for this," Tyler said quietly, his voice trembling with frustration.

Jake scoffed, wiping his hands on a towel before turning his back on him. "You don’t know what you need. I do. Pay up, kid."

Tyler could feel his cheeks burning with anger, but he said nothing. He reached for his wallet, took out the money, and placed it on the counter, trying not to make eye contact with the barber.

As he left the shop, the doorbell chimed above his head, and the crisp autumn air hit his scalp. He touched his head, still in disbelief. It wasn’t just a bad haircut—it was a statement. A message that Tyler wasn’t in control, that Jake had the final say, and that his own preferences didn’t matter.

But as Tyler walked down the street, he could already feel a sense of rebellion growing inside him. Maybe it wasn’t the cut he wanted, but it was his now. And somehow, he knew he’d never let anyone take control of his look like that again.

He’d just have to make sure to find a new barber next time

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