I absolutely hate getting my hair cut. Yet it was time for me to get
at least a trim because I?d put it off for so long. When you?re trying
to have very long hair, cutting anything off is the last thing you want
to do. And I?ve always wanted long hair, like Jolene Myers, the
prettiest girl in our school. Hers is down past her bottom, and real
thick, and real shiny, and she always does nice things with it like
French Braids or curls the ends, or shows up with a head full of
wonderful curls. For Halloween she crimped it and it looked amazing. For
the school musical production she wore it up in a conservative updo
that not only made her look the part of a 30 year old but also looked
very smart and totally stylish. I want hair like hers, and I?ve been
trying for years to get it. While I?ve always had hair at least to my
shoulders, I?ve never been able to get near her length. Plus my hair
grows so slowly it?s a wonder it is as long as it is. Right now it is
the longest I?ve ever had it, only a few inches from my waist.
But it?s in bad shape. I went a bought a cheap set of hot rollers, trying to get the curls that Jolene gets. They sort of worked, though they were gone by midday. I just attributed that to lack of experience, and figured with practice and mixing in hairsprays and styling products I?d be able to master the head of wonderful curls. I tried it every day for nearly a month, and did get better at the procedure though never enough to have curls that lasted all day without using a ton of very sticky hairspray. To make matters worse, they gave me split ends. Real bad split ends. I stopped using the curlers hoping somehow my hair would repair itself, but that definitely didn?t happen. Instead the splits got bigger and bigger, and I know now that I?m going to need a bit more than a trim.
Mom, of course, suggests I get a short haircut. One like hers (it?s hideous) or like my cousin Teresa (not as bad but still awful). I always just smile and say ?Yeah, right!?, with no desire to have less hair than the boys I want to date.
As I walk into Harriet?s Hair House, the salon I go to, I always kind of laugh. (It?s hard to find someone who won?t butcher long hair, but will actually listen and do what you ask. Even though this shop is really old and certainly not the most stylish around I go here religiously so Jessica can trim my hair). The laughter is not about Harriet?s, but the barber shop directly next door. My older brother, years now off to college, used to go here all the time and get positively scalped. Ron?s Barber Shop is basically a legend in this town as the place to go if you want to leave with nothing. I always find myself parking in front of Ron?s to get a quick peek at some unfortunate victim on the chair. This time I notice a little boy with long shaggy hair take a seat, and I wonder what will become of him. It is then that I hear something shatter under my tires. It seems I accidentally ran over a glass coke bottle when I pulled in, and the noise came from beneath my tires. After getting out and locking the car I kneeled down to study my tires, pushing my long strands out of my eyes. Fortunately I don?t seem to be losing any air. I take a quick peek back at the boy in the barber chair, and watch for about 30 seconds as the barber quickly takes off most of his hair with clippers leaving him with some type of crewcut. I?m amazed this shop is still in business after all these years, yet it never seems to be short of clients. As the boy gets the last of his initial length removed I head toward the salon. My appointment is for 10 and I?ll just make it with two minutes to spare.
Jessica studies my hair and gives me the bad news. At least 4 inches will have to come off, meaning my hair will only reach midback, and it will be a long time, at least a year, before it is even as long as it is right now. It will be at least 3 years for me to equal Jolene Myers. This news is no different than I anticipated and give her the go ahead, stressing not to take off any more than necessary. When I leave the salon 30 minutes later my hair looks and feels significantly shorter, though I have to admit looks much healthier. Jessica recommends I ditch the hot rollers, and upgrade to higher end conditioners and shampoos. If I had enough money I would have bought a bag full of products then and there. But that would have to wait until next time.
As I get near my car I notice something looks wrong, and it?s then that the flat left rear tire is noticeable. I kneel down to study the tire. Some of my hair falls in front of my face, and I push the long strands out of my eyes.
It?s is then that I look again at my hair and note it doesn?t look any shorter. I study it once more and notice the ends are badly splitting. I take my hair in my hand and notice it looks exactly like it had before I had it cut, same length and everything. I look at the flat tire again, only to notice it is no longer flat.
?What?s going on?!? I ask myself. I look at my watch and do a double-take. It?s a few minutes before 10! Had I just dreamed the entire ordeal. I look into the barber shop window and watch a little boy, the same little boy I had seen before, with long shaggy hair taking a seat. I watch him for a bit getting a savage crewcut. But I had seen this already!
I stood there for a bit, and then after again checking my hair and noting it was once again down near my waist and badly damaged, walked (again?!) into Harriet?s. Jessica greeted me exactly the same way as before. In fact it all went as exactly before. And then I was out the door with the same midback length hair.
I cautiously walked to my car, and sure enough the left rear tire was flat. I examined it and?pushed my hair from my face.
My long hair!
I looked at the barber shop. The little boy with shaggy hair was just now taking a seat.
My watch read a few minutes before 10!
The tire was not flat now!
IT WAS ALL HAPPENING AGAIN!
Shaking, I repeated my visit with Jessica, only to have this happen again, and again, and again.
I had always like the Bill Murray movie Groundhog Day, but now that I was living it I found myself liking it much less. I lost track of how many times I had Jessica take off those few inches today, or how many times I watched that young boy step up into the chair.
Eventually I decided that to break this spell would require me doing something different. So I asked Jessica to braid my hair after she was done trimming it. But the outcome was no different, and soon I was sitting at her chair again. I tried other options. A bun, a side part, a slight curve with a blow dryer. Nothing changed. Soon I was trying curls, fancy wedding updo?s, even crimped hair. Still the event repeated itself.
So I decided to modify things a bit more, and had Jessica (much to her surprise) color my hair, hoping that would make a difference. No such luck. I left with streaks, as a blonde, as a bleached blonde (horrible!), as a redhead, with pink hair! Nothing changes the cycle.
Nervously I asked her to trim off a bit more than usual. When that didn?t do the trick, I ventured further. Soon I was leaving with hair only to my shoulders, then in a flip, then with layers, then with a bob.
I didn?t go any shorter than that bob, just above my shoulders, fearing that any time now I would be welcomed back to my life and didn?t want to arrive bald. But nothing changed this repetitive cycle.
To be honest it was kind of fun seeing myself in all these different styles, and seeing Jessica?s reaction to my requests after all these years of trying to grow my hair out. But now I was panicking more than a bit.
Then the idea struck me to walk into the barber shop for the trim. Certainly they would know how, and I could use the excuse of needing to save a few dollars when questioned.
I was very nervous as I entered the shop. I had been in here only once before when I was a very little girl, waiting for big brother to get his haircut. That was over 10 years ago. What was amazing is how little this place had changed. I?d swear the same posters and decorations were on the walls years ago. Besides the barber, who gave me a bit of a questioning look (the ?was I in the right place?? look) the little boy on the chair, now just being robed, and his middle aged mother were the only other people in the shop. I smiled at the lady and took in the feel of the place. The customer faced out the window, unable to see what was happening to their hair. The sound of electric clippers filled the shop, as well as the discussion between the barber and the boy?s mom.
?How did you want his hair cut today??
?Well, it grow so fast I though of something pretty short.?
?Did you want something with bangs still??
?I was thinking about something different. Perhaps something where it stands up on top.?
?Like a crewcut??
She winced, trying to put into words what she wanted for her son. ?Not that short on top.?
?What about a flattop??
?I was thinking about that.?
?That would be longer on top than a crewcut.?
?How short would the sides and back be??
?Short. A flattop is skin on the sides and back.?
She shook her head. ?Too short? Isn?t there something a bit longer than a crewcut??
?How about a spike? That?s about the same as a crewcut on the back and sides, but about an inch longer on top.?
?That sounds right. Then maybe this summer he?ll get a flattop.?
This whole exchange was quite interesting to me, as I never realized there were so many names for these short haircuts. They all looked the same to me for the most part, though of course something like a shaved head or a flattop were easy to recognize.
I watched the now familiar scene, though much closer up now, of this boy getting absolutely scalped. He ended up with almost nothing on the back and sides, and the top was only about an inch long sticking straight up with the help of some type of product the barber put in it. The boy was soon happily on his way out the door, an appreciative mom giving the barber a good sized tip. And then it was my turn. The barber did start by commenting ?You know this is a barber shop. I don?t really cut women?s hair? before I even tried to sit in the chair. I stood and nodded, and then politely asked him if he could just trim off the last 4 inches or so. I held my hair in my hand, demonstrating to him what I considered the last 4 inches. He smiled and said it wouldn?t be a problem.
The large barber chair felt so much different than Jessica?s small salon chair I had just been in countless times. Plus, the barber nearly choked me with a tight tissue around my neck before fastening the robe. No stray hairs were going to end up on my shirt. As he spritzed my hair with water and combed it down the back of the chair I found myself death gripping the arms, petrified I was about to receive the same treatment as that little boy.
But much to my pleasant surprise, the barber did just what was asked of him, taking off exactly what I had asked of him. He did ask why I chose his shop over a woman?s salon, and I fed him the line about saving money. He bought it. He certainly never would have understood the truth.
I left the shop hoping that this would return my day to normal. I noted the flat tire, and then the hair in my face, then the boy stepping up to the chair, the non-flat tire. It was all repeating itself again.
It was all I could do not to scream out loud.
Not giving up, I tried the Barbershop out again, and again, and again. First doing the same request, and then risking a bit more each time. Still no difference to the outcome. By this time I found myself easily climbing into the chair, no longer death-gripping the arms, and totally comfortable in what I always considered a ?House of Horrors?. I also found myself watching the little boy before me more and more, noting that he really didn?t end up bald, and starting to appreciate the different looks that he could end up with. I was still confused with exactly how much different a Crewcut would be versus his Spike, and how much different a flattop would be compared to them. I might as well learn something from all this madness. Part of me wanted to see the boy in all the haircuts. Eventually I started talking to the boy?s mom, trying to see if I could effect the outcome and see the boy end up with something else besides the ?Spike?. It never happened. One time I got a little too pushy, and the mom turned to me and said ?If you want to see a flattop so badly, why don?t you get one yourself!? On that occasion the barber even asked me to leave then and there. No matter, by the time I got to my car the event was happening again, and I was soon walking in his door for the ?first time.?
The one thing that conversation did do is make me think about asking for something crazy, like a flattop. Why not, I had already been cut, dyed, curled, worn numerous updos fit only for a bride, crimped and bobbed? I had already sat in this barber chair more than a dozen times. What difference would it make now? Such a request would be no more insane than any other part of the rest of this day that never seems to end.
But for some reason I wasn?t ready to do such a thing. I was still worried that should I dare such a thing I would be stuck with it. Plus, I really had no desire to have short hair, not to mention something radically short, even for a male, like a flattop. Even if I only had it for a few minutes, it wasn?t something I wanted to do. However, I did find myself starting to ask the barber questions about his craft, and eventually got so I could ask specific questions about his last customer.
?How much different would a crewcut or flattop be from the ?Spike? you just gave that boy??
?Well, a crewcut would be about the same on the sides and back, but shorter on top. You really wouldn?t be able to spike it up. A flattop would be a little longer on top in some places, but a lot shorter on the sides and back.?
?So if he didn?t like his spike he couldn?t have then opted for a flattop?!?
?That?s right, he?d need to let the top grow for a few weeks or it really wouldn?t look right.?
I reworded this conversation several times over the next visits until I felt very proficient on the subject. I also learned that there were variations in length of crewcuts, though he favored the ? inch version, and that there were variations in flattops. The sides could be anything from short to ?whitewalled,? with basically nothing left. The back would be cut to match the sides. The top could be done ?regular? or more squared off, and could maintain a little length, be short enough to include a bare patch known as a landing strip, or so short all that remained was a horseshoe of hair. His favorite was one that wasn?t quite a horseshoe, but with a definite landing strip.
It all sounded so awful and severe. I remembered my brother stressing about getting short haircuts here, maybe from this very same barber. For some reason I wanted to experience it. So now it was just a matter of summoning up some nerve. I considered easing into the request, getting continually shorter. Perhaps asking for a bob, then sort of a Pixie haircut before easing into the world of short haircuts even for men. But for some reason I felt the ?fun? version would be just to dive in and go mega-short right away. The drastic change was all the appeal, even if it only lasted for a matter of minutes.
The boy was soon happily on his way out the door touching his ?Spike?, his appreciative mom (who I now knew as Jill) giving the barber a good sized tip. And then once again it was my turn. The barber, just like all the other times, started by commenting ?You know this is a barber shop. I don?t really cut women?s hair? before I even tried to sit in the chair. I stood and said ?I know,?, and slid into the barber chair. The robe was soon in place, the choker tight around my neck. He drew all my hair down my back, and then stepped in front of me.
?How would you like your hair cut??
I don?t know why I was nervous. I had spent so much time getting my hair done thus far that I was sick of it. But I was, simply because I was going to ask for something crazy.
?I?d like a flattop.?
The barber looked stunned. ?If it?s some ladies version of a flattop you want then I?m afraid you?re in the wrong place.?
I was now really trembling, my hands thick with sweat, but I tried my best to act cool and confident. After all, no matter how bad I looked, in 30 minutes my hair would be long again.
?I know. I came here for one of your flattops.?
?Well, all right then. I suppose I might be able to use a guard on the clipper and keep it a bit longer.?
?Don?t bother. I want your short version.? I couldn?t believe I was saying this.
?You know that means to the skin on the sides and back?!?
I nodded almost too confidently. Was I actually looking forward to this?
He just stared at me for a second. ?So you really want me to give you a man?s flattop??
I smiled. ?I know it sounds strange, but yes. I?d like it whitewalled on the sides, and I?ve heard you are good at cutting the top nice and square with a big landing strip, but not so short it ends up being a horseshoe.?
The barber grinned at my knowledge on the subject, no longer so suspicious that this was some kind of gag. I was still amazed I even had the guts to say such a thing. Imagine me really asking for such an awful thing! But this wasn?t real, it was just a strange dream of a day that never ended. I might as well have some fun with it.
?You?ve just described my favorite haircut to give, though I?ve never done one on a woman.?
?Well, I?ve never had one before, so this will be a first for both of us.?
He still paused, unsure if he should actually do what I asked.
?You really want it as short as you just said?!?
I nodded again. ?Yes, I really do.? At that moment I did too, just to experience such madness.
He pumped the chair up a bit and locked it in place, and then started briskly combing through my long, damaged tresses. Satisfied, he picked up his scissors and started slicing into my length on my right side just above my shoulders. ?You lose a bet or something??
?Naw, just something different I thought I?d try. Besides, it will grow out.?
The scissors had finished with the right side, and were going around the back a good inch or two above my collar. This was now several inches shorter than it had ever been. Even taking into account the bob I had risked previously with Jessica. My nerves suddenly returned and I gripped the arms of the chair again.
?Well, it will take quite a while before your hair is this long again.? The barber finished the left side, allowing the last section of clippings more than 12 inches in length fall into my lap. Then he headed back to his counter of tools. I stared what length remained, noting the shorter side sections fell forward of my face barely to my chin. I shook my head, getting used to the peculiar sensation of no hair against my shoulders and barely touching my neck, and of having so little mass weighing me down. My head already felt pounds lighter.
?You?d be amazed how quickly my hair grows back,? I said with confidence, for today this was certainly the truth.
The barber was fiddling with his clippers. ?You sure you want the short version?!?
?Absolutely. Whitewalls, Landing Strip. That?s why I?m here.?
The clippers snapped to life in a loud hum. ?Then the short version is what you?ll get.?
Despite the countless haircuts I had this day, I never had asked for anything truly short, and I had never experienced the use of electric clippers. So when I heard them come to life I felt a tingle go through my whole body. The kind that happens when you know you are going to experience something new and not altogether desired. I found myself biting my lip as they were pressed to my right temple.
It is strange how hair as long as mine takes years to grow (except of course for today where it only takes seconds) yet can be removed in a blink of an eye. I?m not sure what I expected the clippers to feel like, but I did expect to feel them chopping the hair off. I didn?t, and if I hadn?t felt the massive amounts of clippings falling from my head, bouncing off the robe either finally coming to rest in my lap or on the floor, or the sudden lightness and coolness of what remained I probably wouldn?t have guessed that my hair was actually being cut. He wasn?t pressing them hard against my head like I imagined he would. Instead his touch was very light and? gentle.
However he was working quite rapidly, and in moments he had worked clear around my head removing seemingly everything except the hair on my crown. It was such a peculiar and unlikely predicament to be in that I had to admit I was having fun. He then made a very quick run over the top, lifting the hair with a comb and running the clippers over them which seemingly took down a good amount of the bulk, but in no way he trying to shape it into anything. At least it didn?t feel like a flattop. Then he shut off the clipper and returned it to his shelf. I couldn?t imagine being done so soon.
A second, higher pitched pair came to life, and I felt him retracing the sides and back. This time he was pressing against my skin a bit with the machine. I never did see clippings fall this time, but could hear something coming off. I could tell I was truly being scalped. Yet I was grinning, and he noticed it. Seeing my comfort seemed to put him at ease with this unusual request. I imagine he might have been a bit nervous about this whole thing too.
The clipper went higher and higher up the back of my head. I know I had to look concerned as I felt it start going up and over the crown. It felt like I was going to end up bald instead of with a flattop. But I didn?t say a word.
The clippers were shut off and then he started spritzing my top hair with water. Then he used a blow dryer and brush to get it to stand up a bit, or at least no longer part in the middle. Good luck, as my hair had a center part for as long as I can remember.
And then came the clipper and comb combination again, and this time I felt him making a flat top. It certainly was one of the wildest sensations I had ever experienced, and certainly one I never imagined experiencing. I even giggled a bit at the feel of it all. This again comforted the barber, and he went at it some more taking it down even shorter. He ran the unguarded clippers along the top of my head forming the landing strip. I closed my eyes taking in the sensation?.and smiled.
Then I felt him laying the comb on the side of my head so he could really square the whole thing off. He spent several more minutes going over and over the top making sure it was all perfect. I was enjoying every moment of this.
When the clippers were silenced I sat there trying to feel if I really was done now. I almost wanted this to continue more as I was quite sure I would never ask for this again. Even if I did come in again and again today asking for this cut or even to be shaved bald, it would never feel as intense as this first radical flattop had been. I was glad now I hadn?t eased into this and just went for the extreme.
But he wasn?t done, as I felt warm shaving foam being distributed around my ears and all around the back. The foam on the sides was distributed all along the side of my head. My whole scalp felt warm and tingly.
I?m sure to most men the sensation of getting the sides and back of their head razored smooth is quite something. For a girl who always had long hair it was positively intoxicating. I still couldn?t believe I was sitting here having this done. Fortunately it was all just a dream. And finally he was done, as he toweled off the last of the cream, rechecked the top and added a bit of Krew Komb so it stood up nicely in place. I was done.
?OK Miss, just like you asked,? he said as he turned the chair to face the mirror.
To his credit he cut it exactly as I had asked and I was now wearing a very short, very square, very flat flattop. The sides were absolutely shiny smooth, and the landing strip on top was huge. I didn?t have a horseshoe, but it truly was quite close. It was as perfect a flattop as I could ever imagine a person receiving.
And I looked horrid. My skin was so pale in the light of the shop, and I was basically bald. I reached up and touched the little amount I had left, amazed at how different it felt. There was no sign at all of my previous center parting, and what remained now had a completely different texture. It was kind of fun to touch the level top, but to touch the bare sides and back sent a cold chill up my spine.
Still, knowing in a few minutes I would once again have my long hair, this had been quite a fun ride. I smiled, paid the barber (tipping him way too much), and then left the shop noting the huge pile of my former mane on the floor as I did. The sensation of the cool breeze outside on my now nearly bald held overwhelmed me as I headed to my car.
I kneeled down to look at the left rear tire, puzzled that something seems different. THE TIRE WASN?T FLAT! But it had to be flat! It had been flat all day. I looked at it again, ready to push the hair from my eyes, but my long hair wasn?t there! I still had the flattop. I peered over to the barber shop, and just saw the barber sweeping up the floor, no customers waiting to hop in the chair. No little boy ready to get a ?Spike.?
Now I was panicking. I walked back towards the shop, and then back to the car. Still no flat tire. Now I noticed some people staring at me. Of course they?d stare at me. I was bald!!!
I climbed into the car and looked in the rearview mirror at my reflection, praying that I would see long hair staring back at me. It wasn?t to be. I had the short, extreme flattop. I ran my hands over it, trying to will it to grow. Trying to see if the top was long enough to extend over the hairless sections. No such luck. It immediately sprang back to the rigid look it was named after. I was stuck! For better or worse, I now had a flattop!
When I stepped into my house my mom almost went into shock.
?I hoped you would opt for something shorter, but this is a little extreme isn?t it?!? I looked at her for a bit, then lost it. I broke down into tears and ran up into my room.
I hate getting my haircut. At least I won?t have to worry about another one for a long time.
A long, long time.
The End.
But it?s in bad shape. I went a bought a cheap set of hot rollers, trying to get the curls that Jolene gets. They sort of worked, though they were gone by midday. I just attributed that to lack of experience, and figured with practice and mixing in hairsprays and styling products I?d be able to master the head of wonderful curls. I tried it every day for nearly a month, and did get better at the procedure though never enough to have curls that lasted all day without using a ton of very sticky hairspray. To make matters worse, they gave me split ends. Real bad split ends. I stopped using the curlers hoping somehow my hair would repair itself, but that definitely didn?t happen. Instead the splits got bigger and bigger, and I know now that I?m going to need a bit more than a trim.
Mom, of course, suggests I get a short haircut. One like hers (it?s hideous) or like my cousin Teresa (not as bad but still awful). I always just smile and say ?Yeah, right!?, with no desire to have less hair than the boys I want to date.
As I walk into Harriet?s Hair House, the salon I go to, I always kind of laugh. (It?s hard to find someone who won?t butcher long hair, but will actually listen and do what you ask. Even though this shop is really old and certainly not the most stylish around I go here religiously so Jessica can trim my hair). The laughter is not about Harriet?s, but the barber shop directly next door. My older brother, years now off to college, used to go here all the time and get positively scalped. Ron?s Barber Shop is basically a legend in this town as the place to go if you want to leave with nothing. I always find myself parking in front of Ron?s to get a quick peek at some unfortunate victim on the chair. This time I notice a little boy with long shaggy hair take a seat, and I wonder what will become of him. It is then that I hear something shatter under my tires. It seems I accidentally ran over a glass coke bottle when I pulled in, and the noise came from beneath my tires. After getting out and locking the car I kneeled down to study my tires, pushing my long strands out of my eyes. Fortunately I don?t seem to be losing any air. I take a quick peek back at the boy in the barber chair, and watch for about 30 seconds as the barber quickly takes off most of his hair with clippers leaving him with some type of crewcut. I?m amazed this shop is still in business after all these years, yet it never seems to be short of clients. As the boy gets the last of his initial length removed I head toward the salon. My appointment is for 10 and I?ll just make it with two minutes to spare.
Jessica studies my hair and gives me the bad news. At least 4 inches will have to come off, meaning my hair will only reach midback, and it will be a long time, at least a year, before it is even as long as it is right now. It will be at least 3 years for me to equal Jolene Myers. This news is no different than I anticipated and give her the go ahead, stressing not to take off any more than necessary. When I leave the salon 30 minutes later my hair looks and feels significantly shorter, though I have to admit looks much healthier. Jessica recommends I ditch the hot rollers, and upgrade to higher end conditioners and shampoos. If I had enough money I would have bought a bag full of products then and there. But that would have to wait until next time.
As I get near my car I notice something looks wrong, and it?s then that the flat left rear tire is noticeable. I kneel down to study the tire. Some of my hair falls in front of my face, and I push the long strands out of my eyes.
It?s is then that I look again at my hair and note it doesn?t look any shorter. I study it once more and notice the ends are badly splitting. I take my hair in my hand and notice it looks exactly like it had before I had it cut, same length and everything. I look at the flat tire again, only to notice it is no longer flat.
?What?s going on?!? I ask myself. I look at my watch and do a double-take. It?s a few minutes before 10! Had I just dreamed the entire ordeal. I look into the barber shop window and watch a little boy, the same little boy I had seen before, with long shaggy hair taking a seat. I watch him for a bit getting a savage crewcut. But I had seen this already!
I stood there for a bit, and then after again checking my hair and noting it was once again down near my waist and badly damaged, walked (again?!) into Harriet?s. Jessica greeted me exactly the same way as before. In fact it all went as exactly before. And then I was out the door with the same midback length hair.
I cautiously walked to my car, and sure enough the left rear tire was flat. I examined it and?pushed my hair from my face.
My long hair!
I looked at the barber shop. The little boy with shaggy hair was just now taking a seat.
My watch read a few minutes before 10!
The tire was not flat now!
IT WAS ALL HAPPENING AGAIN!
Shaking, I repeated my visit with Jessica, only to have this happen again, and again, and again.
I had always like the Bill Murray movie Groundhog Day, but now that I was living it I found myself liking it much less. I lost track of how many times I had Jessica take off those few inches today, or how many times I watched that young boy step up into the chair.
Eventually I decided that to break this spell would require me doing something different. So I asked Jessica to braid my hair after she was done trimming it. But the outcome was no different, and soon I was sitting at her chair again. I tried other options. A bun, a side part, a slight curve with a blow dryer. Nothing changed. Soon I was trying curls, fancy wedding updo?s, even crimped hair. Still the event repeated itself.
So I decided to modify things a bit more, and had Jessica (much to her surprise) color my hair, hoping that would make a difference. No such luck. I left with streaks, as a blonde, as a bleached blonde (horrible!), as a redhead, with pink hair! Nothing changes the cycle.
Nervously I asked her to trim off a bit more than usual. When that didn?t do the trick, I ventured further. Soon I was leaving with hair only to my shoulders, then in a flip, then with layers, then with a bob.
I didn?t go any shorter than that bob, just above my shoulders, fearing that any time now I would be welcomed back to my life and didn?t want to arrive bald. But nothing changed this repetitive cycle.
To be honest it was kind of fun seeing myself in all these different styles, and seeing Jessica?s reaction to my requests after all these years of trying to grow my hair out. But now I was panicking more than a bit.
Then the idea struck me to walk into the barber shop for the trim. Certainly they would know how, and I could use the excuse of needing to save a few dollars when questioned.
I was very nervous as I entered the shop. I had been in here only once before when I was a very little girl, waiting for big brother to get his haircut. That was over 10 years ago. What was amazing is how little this place had changed. I?d swear the same posters and decorations were on the walls years ago. Besides the barber, who gave me a bit of a questioning look (the ?was I in the right place?? look) the little boy on the chair, now just being robed, and his middle aged mother were the only other people in the shop. I smiled at the lady and took in the feel of the place. The customer faced out the window, unable to see what was happening to their hair. The sound of electric clippers filled the shop, as well as the discussion between the barber and the boy?s mom.
?How did you want his hair cut today??
?Well, it grow so fast I though of something pretty short.?
?Did you want something with bangs still??
?I was thinking about something different. Perhaps something where it stands up on top.?
?Like a crewcut??
She winced, trying to put into words what she wanted for her son. ?Not that short on top.?
?What about a flattop??
?I was thinking about that.?
?That would be longer on top than a crewcut.?
?How short would the sides and back be??
?Short. A flattop is skin on the sides and back.?
She shook her head. ?Too short? Isn?t there something a bit longer than a crewcut??
?How about a spike? That?s about the same as a crewcut on the back and sides, but about an inch longer on top.?
?That sounds right. Then maybe this summer he?ll get a flattop.?
This whole exchange was quite interesting to me, as I never realized there were so many names for these short haircuts. They all looked the same to me for the most part, though of course something like a shaved head or a flattop were easy to recognize.
I watched the now familiar scene, though much closer up now, of this boy getting absolutely scalped. He ended up with almost nothing on the back and sides, and the top was only about an inch long sticking straight up with the help of some type of product the barber put in it. The boy was soon happily on his way out the door, an appreciative mom giving the barber a good sized tip. And then it was my turn. The barber did start by commenting ?You know this is a barber shop. I don?t really cut women?s hair? before I even tried to sit in the chair. I stood and nodded, and then politely asked him if he could just trim off the last 4 inches or so. I held my hair in my hand, demonstrating to him what I considered the last 4 inches. He smiled and said it wouldn?t be a problem.
The large barber chair felt so much different than Jessica?s small salon chair I had just been in countless times. Plus, the barber nearly choked me with a tight tissue around my neck before fastening the robe. No stray hairs were going to end up on my shirt. As he spritzed my hair with water and combed it down the back of the chair I found myself death gripping the arms, petrified I was about to receive the same treatment as that little boy.
But much to my pleasant surprise, the barber did just what was asked of him, taking off exactly what I had asked of him. He did ask why I chose his shop over a woman?s salon, and I fed him the line about saving money. He bought it. He certainly never would have understood the truth.
I left the shop hoping that this would return my day to normal. I noted the flat tire, and then the hair in my face, then the boy stepping up to the chair, the non-flat tire. It was all repeating itself again.
It was all I could do not to scream out loud.
Not giving up, I tried the Barbershop out again, and again, and again. First doing the same request, and then risking a bit more each time. Still no difference to the outcome. By this time I found myself easily climbing into the chair, no longer death-gripping the arms, and totally comfortable in what I always considered a ?House of Horrors?. I also found myself watching the little boy before me more and more, noting that he really didn?t end up bald, and starting to appreciate the different looks that he could end up with. I was still confused with exactly how much different a Crewcut would be versus his Spike, and how much different a flattop would be compared to them. I might as well learn something from all this madness. Part of me wanted to see the boy in all the haircuts. Eventually I started talking to the boy?s mom, trying to see if I could effect the outcome and see the boy end up with something else besides the ?Spike?. It never happened. One time I got a little too pushy, and the mom turned to me and said ?If you want to see a flattop so badly, why don?t you get one yourself!? On that occasion the barber even asked me to leave then and there. No matter, by the time I got to my car the event was happening again, and I was soon walking in his door for the ?first time.?
The one thing that conversation did do is make me think about asking for something crazy, like a flattop. Why not, I had already been cut, dyed, curled, worn numerous updos fit only for a bride, crimped and bobbed? I had already sat in this barber chair more than a dozen times. What difference would it make now? Such a request would be no more insane than any other part of the rest of this day that never seems to end.
But for some reason I wasn?t ready to do such a thing. I was still worried that should I dare such a thing I would be stuck with it. Plus, I really had no desire to have short hair, not to mention something radically short, even for a male, like a flattop. Even if I only had it for a few minutes, it wasn?t something I wanted to do. However, I did find myself starting to ask the barber questions about his craft, and eventually got so I could ask specific questions about his last customer.
?How much different would a crewcut or flattop be from the ?Spike? you just gave that boy??
?Well, a crewcut would be about the same on the sides and back, but shorter on top. You really wouldn?t be able to spike it up. A flattop would be a little longer on top in some places, but a lot shorter on the sides and back.?
?So if he didn?t like his spike he couldn?t have then opted for a flattop?!?
?That?s right, he?d need to let the top grow for a few weeks or it really wouldn?t look right.?
I reworded this conversation several times over the next visits until I felt very proficient on the subject. I also learned that there were variations in length of crewcuts, though he favored the ? inch version, and that there were variations in flattops. The sides could be anything from short to ?whitewalled,? with basically nothing left. The back would be cut to match the sides. The top could be done ?regular? or more squared off, and could maintain a little length, be short enough to include a bare patch known as a landing strip, or so short all that remained was a horseshoe of hair. His favorite was one that wasn?t quite a horseshoe, but with a definite landing strip.
It all sounded so awful and severe. I remembered my brother stressing about getting short haircuts here, maybe from this very same barber. For some reason I wanted to experience it. So now it was just a matter of summoning up some nerve. I considered easing into the request, getting continually shorter. Perhaps asking for a bob, then sort of a Pixie haircut before easing into the world of short haircuts even for men. But for some reason I felt the ?fun? version would be just to dive in and go mega-short right away. The drastic change was all the appeal, even if it only lasted for a matter of minutes.
The boy was soon happily on his way out the door touching his ?Spike?, his appreciative mom (who I now knew as Jill) giving the barber a good sized tip. And then once again it was my turn. The barber, just like all the other times, started by commenting ?You know this is a barber shop. I don?t really cut women?s hair? before I even tried to sit in the chair. I stood and said ?I know,?, and slid into the barber chair. The robe was soon in place, the choker tight around my neck. He drew all my hair down my back, and then stepped in front of me.
?How would you like your hair cut??
I don?t know why I was nervous. I had spent so much time getting my hair done thus far that I was sick of it. But I was, simply because I was going to ask for something crazy.
?I?d like a flattop.?
The barber looked stunned. ?If it?s some ladies version of a flattop you want then I?m afraid you?re in the wrong place.?
I was now really trembling, my hands thick with sweat, but I tried my best to act cool and confident. After all, no matter how bad I looked, in 30 minutes my hair would be long again.
?I know. I came here for one of your flattops.?
?Well, all right then. I suppose I might be able to use a guard on the clipper and keep it a bit longer.?
?Don?t bother. I want your short version.? I couldn?t believe I was saying this.
?You know that means to the skin on the sides and back?!?
I nodded almost too confidently. Was I actually looking forward to this?
He just stared at me for a second. ?So you really want me to give you a man?s flattop??
I smiled. ?I know it sounds strange, but yes. I?d like it whitewalled on the sides, and I?ve heard you are good at cutting the top nice and square with a big landing strip, but not so short it ends up being a horseshoe.?
The barber grinned at my knowledge on the subject, no longer so suspicious that this was some kind of gag. I was still amazed I even had the guts to say such a thing. Imagine me really asking for such an awful thing! But this wasn?t real, it was just a strange dream of a day that never ended. I might as well have some fun with it.
?You?ve just described my favorite haircut to give, though I?ve never done one on a woman.?
?Well, I?ve never had one before, so this will be a first for both of us.?
He still paused, unsure if he should actually do what I asked.
?You really want it as short as you just said?!?
I nodded again. ?Yes, I really do.? At that moment I did too, just to experience such madness.
He pumped the chair up a bit and locked it in place, and then started briskly combing through my long, damaged tresses. Satisfied, he picked up his scissors and started slicing into my length on my right side just above my shoulders. ?You lose a bet or something??
?Naw, just something different I thought I?d try. Besides, it will grow out.?
The scissors had finished with the right side, and were going around the back a good inch or two above my collar. This was now several inches shorter than it had ever been. Even taking into account the bob I had risked previously with Jessica. My nerves suddenly returned and I gripped the arms of the chair again.
?Well, it will take quite a while before your hair is this long again.? The barber finished the left side, allowing the last section of clippings more than 12 inches in length fall into my lap. Then he headed back to his counter of tools. I stared what length remained, noting the shorter side sections fell forward of my face barely to my chin. I shook my head, getting used to the peculiar sensation of no hair against my shoulders and barely touching my neck, and of having so little mass weighing me down. My head already felt pounds lighter.
?You?d be amazed how quickly my hair grows back,? I said with confidence, for today this was certainly the truth.
The barber was fiddling with his clippers. ?You sure you want the short version?!?
?Absolutely. Whitewalls, Landing Strip. That?s why I?m here.?
The clippers snapped to life in a loud hum. ?Then the short version is what you?ll get.?
Despite the countless haircuts I had this day, I never had asked for anything truly short, and I had never experienced the use of electric clippers. So when I heard them come to life I felt a tingle go through my whole body. The kind that happens when you know you are going to experience something new and not altogether desired. I found myself biting my lip as they were pressed to my right temple.
It is strange how hair as long as mine takes years to grow (except of course for today where it only takes seconds) yet can be removed in a blink of an eye. I?m not sure what I expected the clippers to feel like, but I did expect to feel them chopping the hair off. I didn?t, and if I hadn?t felt the massive amounts of clippings falling from my head, bouncing off the robe either finally coming to rest in my lap or on the floor, or the sudden lightness and coolness of what remained I probably wouldn?t have guessed that my hair was actually being cut. He wasn?t pressing them hard against my head like I imagined he would. Instead his touch was very light and? gentle.
However he was working quite rapidly, and in moments he had worked clear around my head removing seemingly everything except the hair on my crown. It was such a peculiar and unlikely predicament to be in that I had to admit I was having fun. He then made a very quick run over the top, lifting the hair with a comb and running the clippers over them which seemingly took down a good amount of the bulk, but in no way he trying to shape it into anything. At least it didn?t feel like a flattop. Then he shut off the clipper and returned it to his shelf. I couldn?t imagine being done so soon.
A second, higher pitched pair came to life, and I felt him retracing the sides and back. This time he was pressing against my skin a bit with the machine. I never did see clippings fall this time, but could hear something coming off. I could tell I was truly being scalped. Yet I was grinning, and he noticed it. Seeing my comfort seemed to put him at ease with this unusual request. I imagine he might have been a bit nervous about this whole thing too.
The clipper went higher and higher up the back of my head. I know I had to look concerned as I felt it start going up and over the crown. It felt like I was going to end up bald instead of with a flattop. But I didn?t say a word.
The clippers were shut off and then he started spritzing my top hair with water. Then he used a blow dryer and brush to get it to stand up a bit, or at least no longer part in the middle. Good luck, as my hair had a center part for as long as I can remember.
And then came the clipper and comb combination again, and this time I felt him making a flat top. It certainly was one of the wildest sensations I had ever experienced, and certainly one I never imagined experiencing. I even giggled a bit at the feel of it all. This again comforted the barber, and he went at it some more taking it down even shorter. He ran the unguarded clippers along the top of my head forming the landing strip. I closed my eyes taking in the sensation?.and smiled.
Then I felt him laying the comb on the side of my head so he could really square the whole thing off. He spent several more minutes going over and over the top making sure it was all perfect. I was enjoying every moment of this.
When the clippers were silenced I sat there trying to feel if I really was done now. I almost wanted this to continue more as I was quite sure I would never ask for this again. Even if I did come in again and again today asking for this cut or even to be shaved bald, it would never feel as intense as this first radical flattop had been. I was glad now I hadn?t eased into this and just went for the extreme.
But he wasn?t done, as I felt warm shaving foam being distributed around my ears and all around the back. The foam on the sides was distributed all along the side of my head. My whole scalp felt warm and tingly.
I?m sure to most men the sensation of getting the sides and back of their head razored smooth is quite something. For a girl who always had long hair it was positively intoxicating. I still couldn?t believe I was sitting here having this done. Fortunately it was all just a dream. And finally he was done, as he toweled off the last of the cream, rechecked the top and added a bit of Krew Komb so it stood up nicely in place. I was done.
?OK Miss, just like you asked,? he said as he turned the chair to face the mirror.
To his credit he cut it exactly as I had asked and I was now wearing a very short, very square, very flat flattop. The sides were absolutely shiny smooth, and the landing strip on top was huge. I didn?t have a horseshoe, but it truly was quite close. It was as perfect a flattop as I could ever imagine a person receiving.
And I looked horrid. My skin was so pale in the light of the shop, and I was basically bald. I reached up and touched the little amount I had left, amazed at how different it felt. There was no sign at all of my previous center parting, and what remained now had a completely different texture. It was kind of fun to touch the level top, but to touch the bare sides and back sent a cold chill up my spine.
Still, knowing in a few minutes I would once again have my long hair, this had been quite a fun ride. I smiled, paid the barber (tipping him way too much), and then left the shop noting the huge pile of my former mane on the floor as I did. The sensation of the cool breeze outside on my now nearly bald held overwhelmed me as I headed to my car.
I kneeled down to look at the left rear tire, puzzled that something seems different. THE TIRE WASN?T FLAT! But it had to be flat! It had been flat all day. I looked at it again, ready to push the hair from my eyes, but my long hair wasn?t there! I still had the flattop. I peered over to the barber shop, and just saw the barber sweeping up the floor, no customers waiting to hop in the chair. No little boy ready to get a ?Spike.?
Now I was panicking. I walked back towards the shop, and then back to the car. Still no flat tire. Now I noticed some people staring at me. Of course they?d stare at me. I was bald!!!
I climbed into the car and looked in the rearview mirror at my reflection, praying that I would see long hair staring back at me. It wasn?t to be. I had the short, extreme flattop. I ran my hands over it, trying to will it to grow. Trying to see if the top was long enough to extend over the hairless sections. No such luck. It immediately sprang back to the rigid look it was named after. I was stuck! For better or worse, I now had a flattop!
When I stepped into my house my mom almost went into shock.
?I hoped you would opt for something shorter, but this is a little extreme isn?t it?!? I looked at her for a bit, then lost it. I broke down into tears and ran up into my room.
I hate getting my haircut. At least I won?t have to worry about another one for a long time.
A long, long time.
The End.
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