Clippers Speak

Clippers Speak

The Clippers Speak by Haircape

It is dark, too dark. I hate being shoved into this drawer where the scissors are poking my side, and I am suffocated by my own cord. Besides, I’m hungry, make that starving. I haven’t eaten since closing time yesterday, and with such a cold winter, I haven’t had a good meal in months. Ahh, but spring is finally here. Springtime when man’s fancy turns toward women and baseball, and my fancy turns toward hair. Springtime, when fathers and mothers march their sons into the shop and tell the barber to “Take it all off, Give him a nice flattop, or buzz it real short!” Winter is the season of snacks, but during spring and summer I get fed!

This spring has been OK so far, but no real big meals. Nothing like the glory days, as my drawer mate calls them. He’s too old, and hasn’t eaten in years, but he’s always bragging about the seventies.

“Fathers would drag their long-haired sons into this place, throw them in the chair, and I’d do the rest. It was a meal fit for a king! More food than you could imagine. The father would just smirk and watch as I took it all off in minutes. Turning those hippies into real men.”

I wish that antique would stop bragging. The barber never uses him anymore. It must be Saturday, as I hear the bustling sounds of customers gathering in the shop. That means its almost feeding time.

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“What’ll it be today, sir?” I hear through the drawer.

“Just a trim,” I hear the customer reply. Shucks, no food yet.

An hour passes, and while the drawer has opened a few times, only the comb and scissors have been pulled out. I really hope the action picks up. Saturday is when I usually get my most food. Then I hear it, that beautiful sound, as a woman says, “Let’s give him a nice crewcut.”

“Yes!” I exclaim, as the drawer is opened and I am picked up. Ahh, fresh air, and as the barber unwinds my cord, I begin to feel more relaxed. Pop, I am switched on, and my hungry teeth attack the boy’s head as he squirms in the chair. It’s a decent meal, but nothing special. His hair is pretty short to begin with, and as is the case with most young boys, not particularly clean. As I pass over his head, I look around the shop and survey the waiting customers.

A couple of brothers sit and watch, they could be a potential meal, an older guy with already short hair, probably a stale meal. But what is that? As I pass up the back of the boy’s head, I see in the mirror a young girl, probably sixteen or seventeen, with long brown hair. I mean long, below her shoulders. But wait, as I make another pass, I notice that she is sitting with an older woman, probably early forties also with long brown hair. I assume that this woman is her mother, and I pray that they are not just in the shop for her brother’s haircut.

I have only tasted the sweetness of a woman’s hair on a few occasions, and it was brief. Sometimes a woman would come in for a bob or other short cut that required clipping, but I longed to eat more, only to be deprived. Surely eating the long, and sweet-tasting hair of a beautiful woman would beat anything my drawer mate had eaten in the “glory days.”

As I was placed back in the drawer after the boy’s crewcut, my head was filled with fantasy.

“Just a pipe dream,” I thought to myself, they are not here for crewcuts.

After about fifteen minutes, I heard another voice, a woman’s voice say, “Make it a crewcut, real short. It’s too hot for hair this summer.”

“Here we go again,” I thought. Another young boy sitting in the chair as his mother directs the barber to remove his hair for the hot, summer months. Sure enough, as the drawer was opened and I was removed, there was the older woman I had spotted earlier with the long, brown hair standing next to the barber’s chair.

“Oh well,” I thought, “I guess they weren’t here for haircuts after all. Her son must be in the chair now, and the sister was merely along for the ride.”

Just then, the barber spoke, as he plugged in my cord. “Are you sure?” he asked. I looked at the mother hoping she would say yes. A meal was still a meal, even if it was from a boy’s head, and I was still pretty hungry.

“Yes, I am sure!” I was shocked to see that it was the sixteen-year-old daughter sitting in the chair with the cape fastened around her. “I want it all off, a nice, short crewcut! 1/8th of an inch.”

“You heard her,” responded her mother. “I think she’s crazy, but it’s what she wants.”

“You heard her. You heard her,” I thought eagerly. “Flip the switch and let’s go!”

Pop! I was on and approaching the sweetest, longest hair I had ever approached. I was humming louder and faster than ever before. “Crewcut she wants, crewcut she gets.”

The barber guided me right down the middle of her forehead. “MMMMMM!” Piles of hair cascaded out of my mouth and tumbled to the floor and cape below.

“Delicious!” I thought as I was pushed up the right side of her head, munching on her long hair and sending it into her lap. I never wanted this to end, as I plowed my way up her neck to the crown, chowing down on her sweet, delicious hair.

Each pass I made, I devoured more of her hair, leaving only soft, fuzzy stubble behind in my wake. She was calm, not like the squirming little boys, and her mother watched with a smile as I continued my meal, sending long waves of hair to the large pile on the floor.

As I made my final pass up the left side of her head, feeding on the remaining strands of her sweet, brown hair, I felt like a king after a royal meal. I was even happy when the barber moved me over her head a second time to get any remaining pieces that I may have missed on my first trip around her head.

“Leftovers,” I muttered. “Delicious!”

Soon, the barber flipped my switch off, and laid me on the counter to rest. “Nothing like a good nap after a big meal,” I thought. I watched as he cleaned up her hairline with the small clippers. “Poor little sucker,” I remarked. “Never gets a meal, only the scraps.”

When the barber removed the cape, I could finally survey the size of my meal. The pile of hair was dropped to the floor, and the girl, who minutes before had hair to her shoulders was eyeing her new, sleek crewcut in the mirror directly above me.

“It’s great!” she said.

“It looks great!” said her mother.

“It tasted great!” I said.

Her mother ran her hands over her daughter’s head. “I really like it.”

She sat down, crossed her legs, and the barber placed the cape around her shoulders. He removed a tissue and wrapped it around her neck, pulling the cape around her and fastening it tight.

“I’ll have the same, please,” she said politely. “Take it all of!”

“Yes!” I thought as the barber switched me back to life. “Nothing like a great dessert after a great meal!”


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