Writing

George stared into the mirror, unhappy with what he saw. He felt that it was bad enough being bald, but being mocked by the barber when he asked for a haircut was too far. He could have at least humoured him and pretended to cut his hair, but no, he had to get laughed out of the shop for it. Honestly, the nerve of some people. Sure, he may be hairless, scalpily impaired, missing a few inches from his head (all of which aggressively shouted to him by the customers at the barbers and once or twice by David), but it wasn’t about hair, it never was, it was the principle. If someone goes in and asks for a service, which they intend to pay for, any business should be happy and willing to accept them. 

As he went into the shower to wash off the disgrace he picked up from his encounter at the barbers, George continued the argument in his head, until he was satisfied that, given a second chance (or even more time during his first encounter), he could have convinced the barber to give him a haircut. With the argument George thought of, and his realisation that barbers and barbaric were similar in spelling and how George felt he’d be treated by them, the man, now desperate, believed he was prepared enough for every outcome (be it barbaric or not), that there was no way it would go wrong. 

That only left one thing – to prove David the barber wrong. Jumping out of the shower, George didn’t even bother to dry himself as he threw on his clothes, ready to head out (a decision he came to regret with the Baltic winter wind outside). 

With his hat covering his wet, bald head, George went into town, now confident in the fact that he could now easily argue his way into getting a haircut. 

‘David!’ George yelled a little too loudly, mistaking the idea of being loud with the idea of being confident. He took his hat off as he did so. ‘I’ve returned.’ Not realising that his return was much to his exasperation to everyone in the barbers, even though none of them had been present to witness the previous event, they just heard the story. 

‘My god,’ replied David, ‘what is it now?’ The defeatism in his voice was clear, but not to George, who had convinced himself he was now entering into a battle of wits with his anthesis – the cutter vs the uncuttable. 

‘Well David - If a barber in a small town says he’ll shave everyone who cannot shave themself, who shaves him?’ George looked triumphant, as if he just successfully used his philosophy degree to convince the entire ensemble in the barbers that he was a genius. 

‘George? What the hell are you talking about?’ David sounded more confused than impressed. This, however, didn’t stop George in any way. He just kept on talking. 

‘If you’re willing to cut my hair, I’ll pay you double - no triple - what you usually charge.’ George crossed his arms, still triumphant at his apparent victory. ‘So, are you game?’ David, driven to exasperation at a man he once considered a friend, realised that there was no sensible way out of this. 

‘Alright George, I’ll make you a deal - I’ll give you a haircut, free of charge, if you promise never to come into my barbershop again. Deal?’ George was ecstatic, shaking on it a little too hard. It had been years since he had a haircut full stop, never mind a three. Something which David had to gently remind his bald customer the difference of.  

Once the previous person stood up from the chair, George launched himself into the seat in the same manner a child would when they cannonball into a swimming pool, while completely ignoring the other people waiting, all of whom had to pay. Not that anyone tried to stop him – the quicker he was out, the better. 

‘If I wanted to see a clown, I’d go to the circus.’ Muttered one of the customers, only realising he said it out loud when the other customers around him laughed, much to his short-lived embarrassment. Even David let out a quiet chuckle. However, like most things, George didn’t notice and if he did, he didn’t care – he was too excited to get his haircut. 

Upon taking payment from the previous customer, David turned to finish this silly, one-sided feud with George once and for all. Instead of sweeping up the hair on the floor from the previous customer (a particularly hairy gorilla, it seemed) and binning it as a good hygiene practice, David scooped a large clump up and neatly piled the hair on to George’s head, before styling it best he could without it all falling off. David then snipped nearly half a millimetre of a singular, lonely strand of hair. 

‘There.’ Said David. ‘I’ve given you a haircut. Now would you please leave.’ The last sentence was more of a beg than a demand, but George didn’t care (or wasn’t able) to tell the difference. David knocked off the rest of the hair sitting on George's head in one clean sweep. Satisfied, the patron, now gently feeling around his once again bald head, stood up, shook David’s hand and vowed never to return. A desperate request, made by a desperate man. Walking out the door, George turned back to say one more thing to David. 

‘Thank you, David. Same time tomorrow?’ A look of absolute terror fell upon the barbers' face, before George let out a kookaburra-esque laugh, an uncomfortable sound that made the already uncomfortable queue of haired customers more uneasy. Fed up, David pushed George the rest of the way out, hoping it was a joke. 

George left, satisfied, ready to convince the barber two streets down to do the same thing tomorrow. That is, if David didn’t warn them first.