Joseph Inspires Change by Manny

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My mouth dropped open. I was left speechless!

There stood Joseph, virtually unrecognizable, grinning at me.

"What happened to your hair?!" I stammered in disbelief.

"Had it all chopped off," he remarked lightly. "My back and sides...lather shaved!"

Joseph turned around to show me and ran his hand up the smooth, supple scalp. It hadn't seen the light of day in decades and was starkly white!

"I look like a jarhead, don't I?" he laughed.

I couldn't believe Joseph was making light of the awful -- or maybe 'shocking' is a better word -- transformation he'd received over the weekend.

Gone was his showy shoulder-length mane -- admired and envied by so many. The lustrous silken flow of honey-colored tones with natural golden highlights was absolutely GONE! The swishing tail he occasionally sported...a thing of the past!

For as long as I'd known Joseph -- over ten years -- he'd rocked long locks. Sometimes his mane was a bit off the shoulders, sometimes shoulder-length, and sometimes just past his shoulders.

When he'd left work on Friday, he was sporting a ponytail. But, as the new week started, he looked like an army cadet.

"Yes, a jarhead -- that's exactly right!" I stammered. "What in the world?! What happened?"

"Do you want the full story, or just the basic facts?" he asked, pulling up a chair.

I could tell he was eager to recount his dramatic foray into the world of traditional barbershops, and, I was interested. Very interested!

"Can you believe the longest part that's left is this micro-fringe? Like, I can hardly grasp the bumper between my fingers," he said, again showing what he meant with his hand.

"Give me enough of what happened so I can understand the motivation or the circumstances and maybe what was going through your head," I said. "Gad! You're almost BALD!"

"Shocking, isn't it?" he laughed, again feeling the shaven scalp in back of his head. "It's an amazing feel. Maybe I wanted this...subconsciously. I'm still getting used to the military look myself. Love the smooth surfaces, but when I see myself in the mirror...it's like, 'ugh! What have I done to my flow?' No more tail."

"You had such nice hair," I chided him gently, still taking in Joseph's minimalist look.

"Yeah, yeah," he replied dismissively. "I keep hearing that."

Then he told me his story "I woke up on Saturday feeling grumpy. Flopped around in bed and everything seemed to annoy me. The light on the clock, the smell of the new laundry detergent on the sheets, kids shrieking in the street. I mean everything -- including the clammy feel of hair on my face. A thick, unruly mop...all over the place, poking up my nostrils even! Got up, and when I saw it was overcast, dropped my afternoon beach plans. Then, I got a text from the salon. 'Maddy called in sick today. Mind if I reschedule you for next Saturday?' I quickly texted back, 'YES, I MIND!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!' A full week?! I felt like telling Maddy to get her ass into work."

"Oh, that is so YOU, Joseph!" I laughed, imagining him pounding out the irritated response and pushing the send button.

Joseph was impulsive like that...and he never seemed to regret or re-think his outbursts. I wondered if the dramatic makeover was being handle in his same, breezy way. No second thinking. 'I did it and that's it. OVER! Mop dispatched. Jarhead born.'

Joseph continued, "That meant I was going to have to wash the mane myself, instead of getting it done at the salon. I love those salon washing sessions...total heaven under the warm stream with Maddy's strong fingers working up a lather and praising my copious locks. She's a little tart who enjoys flirting with me. Anyways, when I saw myself in the mirror, it pushed me over the edge. 'I'm tired of long hair!' I thought. No beach...no Maddy at the salon, but the mop IS getting cut...TODAY! As I showered, my loathing of the locks intensified. So much hassle with the shampoo, then the detangling and prolonged drying session. Gosh, I wanted to be rid of it!"

"Well, it looks like you got what you wanted," I said. "But, why so radically short?"

"The jarhead look wasn't in my plan, at all," Joseph said. "My first thought was to have the length cut off, but keep it fairly full and long, especially on top. Sending 6-8 inches to the floor was probably what I had in mind when I left the house. I decided to treat myself to a big maple-bacon glazed donut. Walked to my favorite place for a sugar-fix...figuring the exercise would take the edge off the calory infusion. It's about two miles from my house, in Piccadilly Plaza."

"I know the place. I love the Donut Bar!" I exclaimed.

"On the way, I kept thinking about the big chop -- that it was time I cut my hair short. I mean, to a length my father would like. You know, off the collar, ears and eyebrows. You know, even though I'm a grown man, he still rags me about my shag," Joseph said. "For me, that haircut would be shockingly short."

"Yes, I know," I commented. "I'm still feeling shocked!"

"As I approached the Donut Bar, I saw an unfamiliar sight near the other end of the plaza -- a spinning red-white-and-blue barber pole. I couldn't remember one being there but recalled the Verizon store had gone out of business," he explained. "After I finished my donut, I decided walk past the new place. I was warming to the idea of shedding my tresses at a traditional barber shop."

"From the looks of things, I guess the new barber shop was already operating," I deadpanned.

"There were a couple of fellows there -- barbers, all sporting matching tunics. Youngish, clean-cut guys...totally groomed, and not a single one with all those awful tats on their arms and fingers. They'd done a great job with the shop, creating a sort of military theme inside. Anchors aweigh!"

"Hey, I said I wanted the condensed version of the story -- not a blow-by-blow accounting of your whole Saturday!" I joked.

"Yeah, but I'm a story-teller! Anyways, I still hadn't decided to go in. There were a few things that gave me pause, the major one being a sign in the window proclaiming 'we specialize in military haircuts' and another vintage sign prominently displayed inside that said 'flattop specialist'. One of the barbers spotted me milling about and gawking. He came out and asked me if I was there for a haircut. I could tell he was just itching to take off my tail off. And, told him so! He laughed and didn't deny it. 'If you step foot inside, that tail is history!' he joked. I sort of liked his tease. I imagined him grasping my tail with one hand and delivering the big chop with his other! We chatted some more, and he said that for the first week they're not charging anything for haircuts. Tips were welcomed, though."

"Sort of like decide for yourself what your haircut should cost?" I suggested.

"That, or just get a free haircut!" Joseph replied. "The freebie was the final nudge to get me past the threshold -- to let muscular Matt escort me to his chair. 'Look who's here to lose his tail!' he told his barber buddies. Lots of laughs and a lot of camaraderie ensued as he caped me up."

"I guess they're trying to build up a clientele from scratch, waiving the set fee," I noted. "Nice move by the young barbers!"

Joseph continued, "Next thing I knew, he'd swiveled the chair to face away from the mirror, and I was staring at some sharp-looking Annapolis cadets saluting the flag. That's when it happened! I just blurted out, 'Barber's choice! I want it short. You take it from here.' Boy, and did he ever!"

"I could never do something like that, so rashend up with something so drastic," I remarked, half-joking and half in awe of Joseph's bold spirit of a true risktaker.

Then, I added, "But, the idea of a free haircut and helping some young veterans start new careers does appeal to me."

"All of them cut hair in the navy, so they are very seasoned barbers, if I understood Matt correctly," Joseph explained.

Then, he asked, "Well, do you like it? You need to feel the shaved scalp back here. That's what really freaked me out. First the scissors taking off the tail and Matt tossing it straight into the trash with a flourish and the barbers all hooting and cheering. Then, the balding clippers plowing through the mane with reckless abandon. I was on the edge of my seat much of the time! When he got out the shaving cream and began scraping away...it was like the final, most stomach-churning run of a rollercoaster ride. You can't imagine how much hair was on the floor. Here, look, a pic of me standing in the mound of my cut hair that needed sweeping up. And that mess doesn't even include the tail!"

"OMG!" It's such nice hair," I stammered, inspecting the glossy locks ready for the dustpan. "What a waste! I mean even laying in piles like that on the checkered linoleum, your hair looks fantastic."

"Well, I'm glad it's over with. I think I stumbled out of there semi-traumatized. The rest of the day and all Sunday I was like bouncing around...thinking I liked it, thinking I hated it. Then, I'd be hoping for the best...expecting the worst when my new look was unveiled at the office. Cursing that eager barber, Matt. Praising him, thinking I'd be going back within a week to have him take it even shorter," Joseph babbled. "Do you think I'm nuts?"

"Yeah, sort of," I laughed. "Maybe PTSD?!"

"That's it," laughed Joseph.

"I just miss your long hair," I murmured. "The flow was phenomenal. You rocked it."

"The babes thought that too. They couldn't get enough of running their fingers through the mane, calling me Fabio. Yep, all that's over! I'm a Jarhead now," he sighed as he flashed an enigmatic gin.

Did I sense a bit of wistful nostalgia for his missing tail or did his new look fire up new emotions?

"You don't seem that upset with the makeover," I remarked.

"I've had my fun shocking people," Joseph replied lightheartedly. "Like you!"

Then, his tone moderated, injecting a bit of worry. "Hey, want to have lunch with me later on? I do sort of feel like the transfer high schooler, awkward on my first day and not knowing where to sit in the cafeteria."

"Sure," I replied. "Let's meet outside the canteen at noon."

As he was preparing to leave my office, Joseph focused on my hair.

"Tell me you haven't thought about mowing off that fancy coif of yours," he said, teasing me about my styled executive mane. "I mean, you've never felt an urge to put a quick end to all the fluff and fuss? A brutal butch...a stark 1 all over! One minute, a power helmet of hair and the next...just induction-cut stubble?!"

"I can tell you this, for sure...I have NEVER had that fantasy about my hair!" I exclaimed. "Now, if you would excuse me, I have work to do. That's what people do in an office. WORK!"

"Okay, okay," Joseph laughed. "But, you might try out the new barber shop and give those fellows some business."

"You'd like to see me shorn down to the wood, I bet!" I laughed, smoothing down my lustrous chestnut-colored hair with fiery highlights.

The silken feel was so...oh, so soft and soothing. And, Joseph was right...my hair was a bit of a power helmet...it always had been. Even though my look was professional, I wore it on the longish side to maximize the sheen and natural streaks of auburn.

As he left my office, I got a better look at Joseph's shiny scalp in back -- the exposed nape where his thick tail used to sprout. Two days growth probably meant some prickly stubble. I shivered at the thought of the young veteran sawing through our office-Fabio's tail and then taking the balding clippers to him.

My Monday morning was not very productive. Too many random thoughts and mental images bounced around in my head. Lunch came as a welcome break.

Joseph created quite a stir as we walked into the large breakroom. A few catcalls, a few cheerful greetings, some handshakes. We found a table with a few of our friends and two interns who supported our office, Toby and Seth.

The interns both sported an overgrowth of hair. Toby had an unruly mop of ginger curls. Seth's silken shag very much resembled my hair in college days...a surfer flow with shimmering highlights that dangled below his collar.

The chatter immediately turned to Joseph's haircut.

"I never thought I'd see the day," one colleague chortled.

"It didn't come soon enough!" another added. "You look fantastic, Joseph!"

"I'm an unwavering convert to short hair...uh, I think," Joseph replied cheerfully. "You should try out the new barber shop at the Piccadilly Plaza -- run by some young navy vets. And, this week, the cuts are free the fellows want to build a loyal community-based clientele."

Seth's attention perked up.

"Man, that's perfect," he said. "My brother's getting married on Saturday, and he's been ragging me about not spoiling the wedding photos. It seems my mane is too sloppy for his groomed bank manager's taste. I told him I'd get a short, conservative haircut as my wedding present to him!"

"Perfect!" Joseph exclaimed. "What about you, Curly?!"

"Maybe we can go together after work today, Seth" Toby suggested, enthused about a free haircut. "I just submitted an application for a job here. Oh, I hope you two don't mind me listing you as references."

"Glad to give you a great recommendation, Toby. And, good idea about tidying up if you want a job here. The HR folk won't be impressed by your Raggedy Andy look," I opined.

"Yep," Joseph opined, "best to have the curls cropped tight!"

He simulated a set of clippers with his fingers.

Then, one of our colleagues asked me if I intended to try out the new barber shop.

"Sure am," I replied quickly.

Joseph beamed, "What'll it be? A high 'n tight or a flattop?"

"Very funny," I said. "Just a regular haircut. Maybe you won't even notice I've gotten a trim."

"He's so protective of his glossy helmet hair," Joseph laughed, making my cheeks flush with embarrassment.

As we left the canteen, I chided him.

"Did you have to embarrass me like that, especially in front of the interns?" I snapped tersely.

"Well, sorrrrr--ry," he hmphed. "Everyone took it as a joke...except you, I see."

Joseph abruptly turned down a corridor and didn't even say good-bye. I could tell he was pissed. I felt bad.

The next day Toby and Seth came to work totally transformed! Toby's curls had been reduced by half and shaped into a blow-out fade with a trendy mullet in back and longish, wild fringe. He seemed super pleased with his new, modern cut.

But, poor Seth...oh, poor Seth! His gorgeous surfer hair with natural highlights...SCALPED! A severe, barbered look. An aggressive taper up the sides and back, hair parted on the side and plastered over. A total 1950s look. And was not a happy camper, and with good reason.

"Really, it's my fault," Seth muttered. "I told him I wanted it tapered short -- a real conservative look. He only gave me what I asked for. But, I think our definitions of what 'short' and what 'tapered' meant were from different eras."

"I think it looks fine," I said, trying to encourage Seth a bit.

Joseph shot me a quizzical, skeptical look. I knew he was thinking, 'you little liar!'

"It'll grow out quickly," Joseph added.

That was a more honest -- albeit wishful -- reaction to Seth's unhappy situation.

Joseph advised Toby, "If you want a job here, lose that mullet. You look like a frickin' teen! And, get those curls out of your face. Swing by my office later -- a few snips with some desk scissors will take care of it."

I decided to try to patch things up with Joseph in front of the interns.

I cleared my throat a bit before telling Seth, "Your new taper...it's really growing on me. Maybe I won't get a trim after all. Something a lot shorter might suit me as well as it suits you. Which barber did you get?"

Seth's eyes brightened, and he cracked a shy smile. He seemed grateful for the comment, one that signaled true approval of his new look.

"Aaron, he's a redhead with a bald fade. Burly sort of guy. Really nice," Seth informed.

I ran my fingers through my hair...so soft, so plush, so long.

"Then, I'll ask for Aaron," I remarked as I abruptly left the cluster. "I mean, if that's something one can do at a traditional barber shop."

Joseph caught up with me and trailed me into my office, closing the door behind us.

"What are you thinking?! It's madness," he said. "Seth's haircut looks awful!"

The reality over what I had set in motion made my stomach churn.

"I know," I groaned as I ran my fingers through my hair nervously, "but, I'm going through with it. Shed the helmet hair. Get scalped."

"Trying to prove to me -- and everyone else? -- that you meant what you said about liking Seth's new look?" Joseph remarked skeptically.

Again, I ran my fingers through my hair nervously. What would it be like to have my power helmet quickly stripped off? Terrifying...and, possibly, a tad exhilarating?!

"I have a better plan," Joseph said, advancing toward me.

He giggled a bit and gently pushed my weighty forelock away from my face.

"Oh...I dare you!" He laughed uproariously and could not stop. "Make it 'barber's choice' like I did!"

He had dared me to turn the fate of my hair over to an eager, clipper-wielding, short-hair enthusiast!!

"You'll end up with something better than that dorky taper Seth got," Joseph explained. "And, it'll be a fun experience."

"A nerve-wracking one," I moaned. "I mean, just going into a traditional barber shop run by veterans who specialize in military haircuts is scaring the pants off me."

"That was sweet of you to try to make Seth feel better, especially because it means a sacrifice I know will be hard for you to make. But, now that you have committed to it, you MUST put your money where your mouth is...or, should I say, put these pampered locks where your mouth is?!" Joseph laughed.

Then, he added, "Hope you believe me that I think you'll be even more handsome when this fluff gets stripped away."

"I'll feel vulnerable and exposed," I replied as my stomach churned anxiously.

"Hmmmmm. I can just see you now, sporting Aaron's bald fade," Joseph laughed. "You'll be irresistible."

Then he continued, "I want to watch. I want to video your makeover! These treasured tresses falling in the wake of Aaron's clippers...think of the fun, zooming in on your expressive green eyes, welling with tears as the pile of cut hair in your lap grows."

It was typical Joseph...amid the warm friendship, some playful turning of the knife.

"I'll do it," I blurted out. "Barber's choice!"

With that, I further sealed the fate of my cherished helmet hair that Joseph liked to mock.

Suddenly, an insistent rap on the door interrupted our conversation.

"Come in," I said.

It was Toby, in a bit of a panic.

"I have an interview with HR this afternoon! For a permanent job!!" he stammered. "The guy, Mr. Sauer said there's a position I might be ideal for."

"Congratulations," I remarked. "That was fast. Most applicants never hear back, or they get some sort of form letter thanking them for their interest...and have a nice life!"

"Joseph, can you help me? The mullet and wild fringe! I need to shed them -- quick!" Toby sputtered.

Joseph grinned and pointed to my desk drawer.

"Scissors!" he demanded.

I handed him a huge pair of all-purpose, heavy-duty shears. Joseph primed them while grabbing the entirety of Toby's mullet with one hand.

"I will surgically remove this appendage, no anesthesia needed," he laughed.

CRUNNNNNCH!

The sound of dull scissors cutting through thick, dry hair filled my small office.

Joseph dropped a mass of ginger curls on my desk top. It looked like a rats' nest. Then, he made a few more little snips here and there, tidying up. Surprisingly, the back came out very nice!

"Good job, Joseph! I had no idea you had tonsorial skills," I remarked.

"The bangs will be a bit trickier. Do you have a comb?" he asked.

It was a rhetorical question because Joseph frequently saw me whip out a little comb from my suit jacket in the men's room and run it through my heavy forelock to make it stay back, off my forehead.

Joseph had Toby lean over the desk a bit. Then he combed his long unruly forelock down. The mass of curls dangled past the tip of his nose when pulled down with the comb.

SNIP, SNIP, SNIP.

Joseph chopped off a good four inches of ginger curls that dangled beneath the teeth of the comb. Once released, the severely shortened bangs recoiled to midway between Toby's eyebrows and hairline.

"There, no more curls in the eyes!" Joseph said triumphantly.

The top of my desk resembled the floor of a barber shop.

To me, the bangs had gotten whacked off too short and looked dorky, but I didn't say anything.

"Get that little mirror out of your desk, Pretty Boy!" Joseph smirked, "Toby wants to see my handiwork."

I blushed. Joseph knew my foibles well, and vanity was one of them.

Gawking in the mirror, Toby seemed a little concerned about the short bangs, tugging at them, perhaps hoping that a bit of length could be restored.

After being assured once again that he would receive positive endorsements from both of us, Toby went merrily on his way, feeling his new crop by Mssr. Joseph.

I was reaching for the scissors to put them away, when Joseph snapped, "Wait! I'm not finished with those yet."

He picked them up and started priming them.

I realized that he was staring at me!!!!

He held up the comb and scissors. "Now it's your turn for a little trim!"

"Oh, no, you're not" I stammered.

"Oh, yes, I am!" he replied gleefully. "Be a good boy and come lean over the desk here, just like Toby did. We're going to take care of that heavy forelock that is forever falling into your eyes."

I sat, immobile.

He stared defiantly at me.

"When I say come..." he insisted, affecting an authoritative, impatient tone.

Then he let out a laugh and handed back the scissors. That was Joseph, always toying with me.

"Sorry for the mess on your desk," he remarked casually as he left my office.

For a few moments I sat wondering what it would have been like to let Joseph chop off my pampered, long bangs...to see a clump of my hair on my desk! I felt my groin stir. I imagined the bangs hacked brutally short, like Toby's. My groin hardened!

After work!!! I would go straight to the new barber shop after work! I would tell Aaron 'barber's choice!' and watch the radical change in the mirror.

I seized my little hand mirror and peered at my helmet hair. It was going to get butchered! The bat in my fancy dress slacks was on the verge of exploding!

Leaving the building at the end of the work day, anxious about my destination, I ran into Seth.

"Ready for the wedding?" I asked.

"I texted my brother a picture of the new haircut, and he was thrilled with the makeover," Seth beamed.

"I'm on my way to that barber shop myself," I remarked casually. "Can't wait to get this mop whacked off to a more practical length."

"The guys do a variety of cuts, not just military," Seth said, eying my coif.

"Did you see Toby's makeover at the hands of Joseph?" I asked.

"Sure did! He said the interview went well -- and said Mr. Sauer noticed the haircut. Toby thinks it contributed towards a forthcoming job offer," Seth replied.

"Encourage him to get a bald fade. I think it would be a good length for him," I said.

Just hearing the expression 'bald fade' roll off my lips felt otherworldly.

"What about for you too?" Seth asked grinning, still eyeing my mane, "A bald fade?"

I squirmed on my feet.

"Joseph wants me to go 'barber's choice' and that's what it'll be. Let a professional make the decision for me," I replied trying to regain an appearance of calm and composure.

"Aaron told me the bald fade was his favorite cut to give, especially in a makeover situation," Seth said. "He enjoys taking an overgrown thatch and reducing it to a minimal length. If you end up in his chair...my bet's on a bald fade for you."

I shifted nervously on my feet, feeling a mixture of anticipation and dread.

"Gotta run," I said. "See you tomorrow!"

"I hope I recognized you without the coif!" Seth laughed. "What did Joseph call it...your helmet hair? Ha, ha!"

That last remark stung! Taunts coming from a mere intern about my hair! Of course, he was just repeating Joseph's trash talk.

I couldn't stop looking at my hair in the rearview mirror on the drive to the Piccadilly Plaza.

Then, I saw the glowing, spinning pole. Red-white-and-blue! The navy vets awaited me with their huge sets of balding clippers, razors, and steamy lather.

My legs felt like jelly, my knees wobbled as I approached the plate glass door of the shop. The three barbers all had clients in their chairs, but the waiting area was empty.

The trio called out a welcome greeting -- I was told to relax and grab a beer, compliments of the house. Only three more days left of the free haircuts, one informed me. They'd been busy all day.

As I sipped my beer, I saw the redhead with the bald fade taking the whisk broom to his client. OMG! Tell me, it wasn't true. Tell me he wasn't finishing up his client. I could just hear "NEXT!" pealing throughout the spiffy, new shop.

Aaron clapped his eyes on me.

"I'll be with you shortly," he said in a professional manner. "Go ahead, take a seat here."

He'd swiveled the chair away from the mirror to make access more easy for me and patted the upholstery to reinforce his invitation.

Mechanically, in a daze, I found myself ambling toward the vintage Koken barber throne. It loomed larger than life with his massive enamel base and vintage trimmings.

Aaron stuck out his hand and shook it warmly.

"I hope this is the first of many visits you'll make to our barber shop," he said, shaking my squeezed hand longer than was customary.

As he was greeting me and introducing himself, I saw him studying my plush mane.

I eased into the chair, and he told me to relax as he cast the big white cape through the air.

After a strip of tissue came the fastening of the cloth expanse with a sturdy metal clip. The chair was slowly swiveled so that I stared at myself in the mirror -- caped, trapped, no possibility of escape.

My groin surged when I thought about how I might look when the time came for me to leave the chair.

Aaron took a brush, and, as he plied it through my locks, remarked, "You have quite a head of hair! Really thick. So, what'll it be for you today?"

I didn't hesitate. I knew that if I did, I'd lose my determination.

"Barber's choice," I replied quickly, sounding remarkably upbeat.

I felt like I'd just signed my own death warrant.

"That is MUSIC to my ears," Aaron exclaimed cheerfully. "Did you hear that, fellows?! Barber's choice! This is my second this week! Not a big, lush tail like the last guy...but, his hair presents me with a world of possibilities. I need your professional opinions to help me decide."

One barber was adamant. "No bald fade! His hair is wonderful. I know it's your favorite cut, but try to show a little flair and variety, Aaron. Look at the sheen and thickness."

I blushed with modest pride. My beautiful hair was being recognized and praised.

The same colleague added, "Plus, he looks like a serious businessman with that fancy suit. He needs the traditional, elegant look preserved."

The other barber offered his two-bit opinion.

"He probably came here because he wants a big change. How about a regulation haircut?" he asked me.

"Regulation?" I stammered.

"Military length," he explained. "You know, an ivy or a crewcut or a flattop."

"Thanks for your input, fellows," Aaron abruptly said, as if suddenly ending the suggestion period. "I know exactly what I'm going to do!"

Then, to me, he asked, "Do you want to watch? Or, perhaps the big reveal will be more exciting?"

"The way I am now is fine," I replied nervously, shifting in the chair beneath the billowy white cape.

I would have a front seat view of my dramatic makeover!

"You are going to like it," Aaron assured me as he began combing my hair forward so that my forelock was veiling my eyes like a dense curtain.

The haircut became like an emotional rollercoaster, starting with the suspenseful limbo under the veil...the train slowly going up the precarious track of the ride...higher, higher, higher.

Aaron lifted the thick forelock with a comb and instantly zipped off almost the whole mass with one drive of the clippers. In a flash, the forelock was severed, in my lap. I blinked in dazed amazement at the truncated fringe.

My rollercoaster ride had shifted into high gear -- the breath-taking, hurtling down...the seeming freefall into the abyss...a huge fright!

There was no keeping the coif. Aaron made sure of that on the first drive of the clippers!

"Love to do that!" he chortled. "You okay, Buddy?"

I felt woozy...the forelock lay like a fallen trophy in my lap. The air felt cooler against my naked, white forehead.

Aaron tilted my head slightly, his hand firm but steady. The clippers were unleashed again with the unmistakable mojo of a Navy barber eager to prove he means business. He started at my right sideburn, running the Oster's up through the temple, peeling away the coif's fluff with deliberate strokes. I felt the cool air rush in as my dense brown hair gave way to bare skin. The vibration of the clippers traveled through my skull -- it felt oddly soothing and terrifying, all at once.

"Gotta open up those ears," Aaron quipped, guiding the clippers around the curve of my ear.

The sound changed pitch as he moved the clippers higher up through the mass and flicked away clumps of unwanted padding. After one ear stood out amid a field of stubble, the other side got the same attention.

Stray locks tumbled down the cape, collecting in a dark pile that looked far too large to have come from one head -- my head!

When the barber shifted behind me, I caught the reflection of his total concentration in the mirror. Aaron was focused, almost surgically, on the cut he was administering.

"You've got a good crown," he remarked, "Very nice hair! Gonna leave a bit for you to show off. But on the back here, well, it's getting stripped! To the bone!"

He chuckled, as if he enjoyed scaring me a bit.

Then, with a firm grip on top, Aaron moved my head using authoritative control into a submissive bowing posture.

The back of my head received the full force of his dexterous control of the clippers and meticulous attention. He would ensure an even and a thorough divestiture. Driving the clippers upward in aggressive passes, he began to fade the hair to nothing between the nape and occipital bone, then blending it into a short, velvety taper that merged into the erect strands of the crown.

Each stroke was a declaration that the executive coif was history, replaced by something leaner and cleaner. Tighter, more focused. Tough, not pretty or sissy!

Finally, it was time to tackle the top -- the longest session of my transformation.

Aaron swapped to a flat comb and steadied it across my head like a carpenter's level.

"Now we take you down and square you up," he said.

The clippers began their slow, rhythmic dance. He worked front to back, taking down the plush mass in measured sweeps.

The sound was hypnotic -- zip, pause, zip -- accompanied by his rhythmic deep breathing.

"You're handling this better than most," he teased. "Usually, I get a few gasps when the forelock goes. It was the first to come off, but I see it there, still prominent in your lap!"

I reached out from under the cape and fished the five-inch tress from the bottom of the cauldron.

"Look at this!" I laughed.

"Good riddance, I say!" exclaimed Aaron.

"No one's going to be referring to me as a 'pretty boy' behind my back any more," I remarked as I tossed the clump of hair to the floor of the shop.

"I should say NOT!" Aaron said, an enthusiastic member of the 'Amen corner'.

Again, the barber checked the symmetry, combed up the top, and trimmed the edges to further define the bevel. Finally, he was satisfied with his work!

My top was perfectly flat! Plush and boxy, gleaming under the shop lights -- enhanced by a dollop of butch wax that Aaron worked into the spikes for extra body and hold.

I struggled to take in the new me. The look was foreign, yet magnetic.

Aaron held up a mirror to show me the back. I turned my head to see various angles -- the squared silhouette caught the light of the neon track lighting and reflected it with a bit of dazzle.

Finally, the barber dusted off my neck, stepped back, and smiled.

"Mission Accomplished. Executive coif taken down, boxy flattop installed in its place," he announced with pride. "Your hair still shows off that amazing sheen, but now it's got backbone."

"I like it," I said, starting to become accustomed to the new me.

Aaron unfastened the big metal clip.

"Left it tall on top. Next time, maybe we ought to take it down closer, what do you say?" Aaron asked.

"Sounds like a plan," I remarked. "Perhaps even a bit of a landing strip?"

In a flash, Aaron reversed course and pulled the cape back on, snug to the neck.

"Let's not wait, if that's what you want," he said, his voice surging excitedly.

"No, no, no! I want it like this today," I insisted. "Next time! I want something to look forward to, a reason to return sooner rather than later!"

My heart was pounding. Emerging from the chair felt like the end of a long prison sentence. I was free!

My hand explored the back of my head. The stubble sent shiver down my spine.

Then, staring into the mirror, my fingertips made contact with the front edge. The wall of hair was firm, not springy, impossibly straight -- like the edge of a well-planed board. I pressed a little harder and felt the resistance, a combination of my hair's natural density that was fortified by the coating of wax. The bevel caught the light, and the top almost glowed.

"Go on," Aaron said behind me, grinning. "Give it a good feel. That's all you now. Check out the top!"

I slid my hand back across the surface of the immaculately straight bristles. The feel was that of the brush I used to shine my shoes.

And, the sensation was unreal -- a perfect flat plane. The softness of the coif had given way to the rigidity of the flattop.

Aaron's clippers had left the strands standing at attention, each one of them aligned with military precision. Not a single slacker in the battalion that strutted its stuff on top.

Then, almost amnesiac, I could scarcely remember the feel of the coif. I had run my fingers through my hair thousands of times...yet the memory of that softness was fading so fast.

I glanced at the floor. There was the rejected forelock!!

"Since the haircut is free, let me at least help with the clean-up," I insisted. "Where's a broom?"

As Aaron handed it to me, I slipped him 40 dollars.

"You call this a tip?! I've got dibs on this man," Aaron warned his colleagues.

"And, he's cleaning his own mess too," one of the other barbers chuckled. "I wish all our new clients were like him!"

"What about a photo of you standing amid the wreckage of your old look before you start the sweeping?" Aaron asked.

I was happy to oblige! The other barber insisted on a photo of Aaron and me together. We hammed it up and posed with different expressions -- glee, horror, joy, desire! Me, fondling the bristles...Aaron inspecting his handiwork.

I felt like staying on in the shop, chatting and having another beer! These guys in matching tunics had become fast friends.

But, after the mounds of cut hair had been dumped into the trash, it was time to leave.

I approached the mirror for one last feel before walking out to a new life as a flattop convert.

Examining the boxy flattop felt like discovering a new version of myself -- squared, confident, unapologetic. The plushness, the bevel, the perfect flat plane -- the look was addictive. I kept touching it, half in disbelief, half in amazement.

Aaron chuckled. "I knew you'd like it. A plush boxy flattop always wins over the nervous ones."

And he was right.

Awe! Pride! Dread! Triumph!

I strode out of the shop with my head held high. I would be back!

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