Scissors click loudly in my ears. Less of a snip more of a click. Click click click.
There are soft hands pulling my hair roughly from one side to another, tufts of it fall down onto my shoulders, it smells of metal and shampoo. It’s a short cut.
I can’t get that song out of my head as I’m staring at my own reflection. My eyes are red and tired and my face is getting fat, there’s the onset of a second chin to keep my first chin company. I’m definitely feeling old.
Click click click. More trimming. The hands are really soft, I thought working with your hands meant they grew calloused and rough; clearly that message did not reach the high end barbershops of West London.
There’s something shit on the radio. I wish for a second that the radio would play some LCD so I can get rid of this EMOTIONAL HAIRCUT earworm but then I realise that if the radio played some LCD then LCD would no longer be able to be LCD.
Is he finished yet? Feels like he’s been clicking for hours now, some of the dead hairs are on the tip of my nose and I’m gasping for a sneeze, can feel it itching like pollen like cotton like direct sunlight –
My phone buzzes in my pocket. If I had X-ray vision I’d see the screen says nothing of importance but because I don’t I start to obsess about it and the urgency to get out of the chair grows.
He puts the scissors down and gets the electric razor out. Is this halfway done? Nearly done? Ah, back of the neck, must be nearly done. I tilt my head forwards and the second chin I could see bulges out at me like the fucking Michelin man. How do you work out a chin?
He buzzes around the sides, too, then hooks the razor back onto the counter and picks back up the scissors – wait, what? More scissors? Good thing they don’t charge by the minute or this would cost me a fortune. Oh, wait, it’s already costing me a fortune. Maybe they do charge by the minute? Click click click. This is more styling now, no hair is actually falling down. The hands do feel quite nice though.
At last the mirror so I can approve the back of my neck. I wonder if people ever complain at this stage. I never do.
“Looks great, yeah, perfect, yeah.”
A solemn nod and the flash of a smirk. Is he proud of his handiwork? Is he mocking me? Probably both.