The office bustled with the rumbling of keyboard noises as my colleagues and I struggled to finish up the work on hand, in hopes of avoiding overtime. This was especially the case for me as I had wanted to get my haircut since a week ago, but never had the time for it.
I checked my watch, 4.40PM, twenty minutes before I’m off from work. As I reached up to comb through the unruly mane with my fingers, it felt uncomfortable with all the tangles and mess. So determined was I that I finished up my remaining work by 4.55PM, and left straight for the salon.
I frequented a salon just a few blocks away from my workplace, and I always got my haircut by one of their friendliest hairdressers, Tiffany. Hell, I was definitely looking forward to a treat from Tiffany after all that heavy workload in the office.
As my car pulled up by a lot near the entrance of the salon, I parked the vehicle appropriately before pacing for the salon door.
Once inside, I was greeted with the familiar scene. Simple wood décor, with huge full-length mirrors. There wasn’t anybody at their stations at the moment, except for one behind the reception counter.
She looked grouchy, and absolutely didn’t bear the look of a hairdresser. With a creepy hairstyle and a terrible suspender-like outfit, she would probably have to be one of the last few hairdressers on Earth before touching my hair.
I greeted her casually, and asked for Tiffany.
‘Sorry, Tiffany’s called in sick today. The others are out as well. I can cut your hair though,’ the female replied.
That reply probably darkened my mood, as I had been looking forward to getting my haircut by Tiffany since last week. However, as much as I had been craving for Tiffany to be the one cutting my hair, I was desperate. Very desperate. So desperate I gave her offer some consideration.
I found myself desperate, so much that I wanted to get seated on one of these salon chairs and get my mane taken care of, regardless of who is the one wielding the scissors. And that decided it. I gave her the nod, and she instantaneously beamed.
She led me to one of the chairs, got me seated, and introduced herself as Jezz. She wasted no time as she reached for a roll of neck strips, tore off a piece, and wrapped it around my neck. The ceremonial tossing of the cape followed, and was subsequently fastened snuggly around my neck. Jezz then went on to fold down the neck strip over the cape.
‘So, what will it be for you today?’ Jezz questioned as she combed through my scraggly mane.
‘Nothing much in mind, just cut it short, however short you think is appropriate.’ I answered, unknowing of the consequences that impended on my response.
She gave a wide grin at my permissive requirement, almost too grinning that it felt like an evil smirk. I tried not to put too much attention into it.
Jezz reached for a pair of clippers, and turned it on with a thud. She stood directly behind me, hindering my vision of the guard she was using. I prayed she was at least using a #4, as Tiffany usually used only the scissors to avoid taking too much length off.
She placed the clippers at my nape just below the hairline, and pushed it upwards in a merciless motion. The clippers changed tunes as it tore through my hair, and returned to its monotonous reverberations as it reached my occipital bone. Jezz repeated the motion over the back of my entire head, rendering me curious as to how much she was thinking of taking off, or in fact had already taken off.
It was when she changed her grip on the clippers when I realised the plight my words have gotten me into. She now held the clippers reversely, and placed them at my front hairline. With all my knowledge about clippers from previous bad experiences, I was certain that Jezz attached a #1 onto her clippers. And she was placing them at my front, milliseconds before she was about to plunge them into my hair.
Before words could be spoken, judgment was delivered as the clippers tore through my hair, leaving an inch-wide path behind. Nothing was left on the mowed path, except for terribly short stubble. Ignorant of my thoughts, Jezz continued clipping off all my hair, sending them cascading down the cape into my lap, some to the floor or hung around my shoulders.
I looked hilarious as the top was shorn off, leaving the sides remaining. I stared intently at my reflection in the mirror as Jezz finished up her work, shearing off every strand left on my head down to stubble. I wonder how many months will it take before my hair grows back to a respectable length.
As the clippers finally hushed to a silence, nothing was left but my round head, covered fully in super short stubble. Hints of my pale white scalp peered through the stubble.
Still unaware of the predicament her rashness has gotten me into, Jezz raised a round mirror to show me the back of my head. Short stubble, check.
I resigned to my fate as I realised that my buzzcut would not have been possible for my foolishness in providing Jezz excessive freedom in my haircut. With that, I forced a nod, and the cape was unfastened, sending piles of my hair to the salon floor. She used the neck strip to wipe off loose hairs on my face, before leading me to the reception counter for payment.
Next time, I’m definitely going back to Tiffany, and Tiffany only.