Pants and shirt by Oraja

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It was just before the summer holidays in 1974 and I was 13 years old. My parents were understanding about my long hair, so I only occasionally went to a modern salon for a small haircut. But there were also boys who went to old-fashioned barbershops with short hair.
Tomorrow, after school, we'll go to town to buy new black pants and a white shirt, so you'll be properly dressed when you go for your end-of-year report card, my mother told me.
It was Friday and after my mother came home from work, we went to the city center. We entered a clothing store. I saw my classmate Jerry with his mother at the counter. He was undressed in his shorts and trying on new pants. I wondered why she wasn't in the fitting room and why she was changing in public in the store. Jerry spotted me and was suddenly as red in the face as his red shorts. We greeted each other and I found out that our mothers also know each other from meetings at school. Mother asked for pants for me. I wanted to go to the cabin but Jarry's mother stopped me saying that I think they haven't seen a 13-year-old boy in shorts yet. Involuntarily, I also took off my old pants and stayed in white briefs for a while. I felt my face heat up and knew I was as red as Jarry.
While we were trying on the pants and I and the shirt, our mothers had a heated conversation. Before we left the store, Jerry's mother said that they were going to a nearby barber so that her son could get a decent haircut at the end of the school year. To which my mother said we could go with them to the barber. I'm petrified. I tried to point out to my mother that Jarry doesn't go to a modern salon like I do but to an old fashioned barber shop and his hair barely touches the top of his ears. My mother replied that it doesn't matter which barbershop we go to. I also reminded my mother that we had agreed that I would only go for a small haircut at the beginning of the holidays. But the mother was more interested in the conversation and did not respond to my comments. I noticed an old sign above the door of an old building. It was simply written "Barber Shop".
Upon arrival at the barbershop, Mr. Marcus, an approximately 60-year-old barber, welcomed us. The barber shop was as old as his barber. It had a wooden floor, wooden waiting chairs and only one shearing chair. For him, there was a large mirror on the wall and a table with a sink and storage space for the barber's tools. An elderly man was sitting in the barber's chair. Several old men and one about 10-year-old boy with his father were sitting on the waiting chairs. The mothers ordered us to sit on the waiting chairs as well. Jarry's mother went to the barber and asked if she could go to coffee with my mother and leave me and Jarry at the barber shop. Mr. Marcus replied yes we will be getting a haircut in about 45 to 50 minutes. Jerry asked his mother about the haircut. She replied, a decent boy's haircut for the end of the school year and the coming summer, that they would pay for our haircuts after the coffee returned.
I was nervous. When the barber was cutting the boy's hair, I realized that it was a haircut like Jarry regularly gets, about 2.5 centimeters of white arcs around his ears, while the nape of his neck was shaved. On the top of the head, about 4 centimeters long hair with bangs cut high above the eyebrows. The barber cut a man's hair and then said Which boy goes first. I pointed at Jarry. He sat down in the chair. His haircut was much shorter than usual and I was thinking about what to tell the barber about how I wanted a haircut.
The barber wrapped me in a white sheet, pumped up the chair, and I was a little higher off the ground. He combed my hair. I told the barber Just a little haircut please. The barber just said I know what to do. You just sit and don't move. He lifted my hair with a comb and then cut off about 10 centimeters of it, shortening my hair all over my head. It wasn't that drastic. There were still a few centimeters of hair left on my head. He removed the cut hair around my neck and shoulders with a soft brush. He took the electric scissors from the hook, dripped oil on the metal teeth. He tilted my head back. I felt the cold metal of the scissors on my forehead. I wanted to scream NO, but all I could hear was a snort. The barber had already gone from my forehead to the back of my head for the first time. He repeated his movements, turning my head. When he finished with my entire head, my hair was about 1 centimeter long. I had tears in my eyes. My legs were shaking under the sheet and I was afraid my new haircut would fall out. I saw Jarry in the mirror and I was afraid that I would have the same short haircut as him. Mr. Marcus changed the metal blades on the electric scissors. Oil dripped. He started cutting short hair. He placed them on the cheekbone and passed over the temple bone. He bent the ear and cut the hair around the ears. He continued on the back of my head and then on the other side of my head. Turning off the electric scissors did not end my suffering. The barber used a soft brush to remove the small remnants of hair from the last cut on the sides and nape of my neck. He applied white foam that he had made in a ceramic mug to the back of my head and sides. He sharpened the razor and began to gradually scrape the foam off my head. He started on the back of my head and continued on the sides of my head. He wiped the rest of the foam on a towel. He applied a greasy cream to the top of his head and combed his short hair. It stood up like a hedgehog's quills. I had never had such short hair. When I sat down next to Jarry in the waiting chair, I looked closely at his new very short hairstyle. His head was almost hairless, just like mine. On the top of our heads we had a centimeter long hair that shone after the greasy cream and stood in a soldier's attention. 5 centimeters above the ears was a perfectly shaved white scalp. The neck and about 15 centimeters above it the nape of the neck were white and perfectly smooth shaved.
We waited for our mothers for about half an hour. Jerry's mother was delighted with our very short hairstyles. When paying, she handed the barber a card, he wrote something on it and returned it to his mother. Mr. Markus wrote a similar card and handed it to my mother, saying something to her.
When we left the barber's, I asked Jarry what those cards were. He laughed and said. If you come for a new haircut within a month, you will get a 50 discount, if within 3 weeks, the discount is 75. Which discount do you use? Jarry told me that he would not want any, but his mother is of the opinion that it should be used to the maximum and she carefully monitors that Jerry does not have more than 21 days between haircuts.
I did not like Mr. Markus, nor his barbershop, nor the haircuts he did. The only thing I was happy with was that I did not have to comb my hair and did not pull out tangled hair with a comb in the morning while combing.

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