A Haircut

Brent sat down and waited for the man behind him. A moment later, with a dramatic flourish, an apron was thrown over Brent’s head and fastened around his neck.

“What would you like today?” the man behind him asked.

Brent looked at himself in the mirror, raising his eyebrows and turning his head. “Well, I think something like this, but shorter. No real preference, just make me look good.”

“Sure thing, boss,” the hair stylist said. He was an older man, Brent noticed, finally looking at him. Grey hair, neatly trimmed and combed, no product. Immaculate, without appearing to have spent hours on it. The man’s body was somewhat hunched, like he had spent years bending over others. Indeed, the way he was looking at Brent’s scalp, the man likely had, not taking advantage of the chair’s lifting abilities. Or maybe he was an artist, and felt this was the best way to create beauty.

“Fine day today,” the old man said.

“Mmm,” Brent said, done with his examination of the stylist. He pulled out his phone and looked down while the comb ran along his head, stopping for the sound of snick snick.

Before he knew it, the old man was saying, “All finished then.” Brent looked up, and saw a fine head of hair, neat and tidy.

“Perfect,” Brent said. “How much is that?”

“Ten-fifty, sir,” the old man said.

“Great,” Brent said, standing. He handed the man a ten and a five. “Keep the change, thanks.”

“Thank you, sir,” the old man said.

“Not at all, you earned it. You should charge a little more, hey?”

“Ah, then folks who need it wouldn’t get a good haircut. I just hope folk like you will recognize the value, and you did, thanks sir.”

Brent shrugged, and said, “See you later.” He pulled the door open while looking at his phone. The old man grabbed a broom and started to sweep.


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